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Frontispiece 


“ Stars ? and before sunset ?” 





DADDY’S WIDOW 

A LONG ISLAND STORY 

BY 

MARGARET BARNES PRICE 



BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 
835 BROADWAY, NEW YORK, N. Y. 




Copyright, 1916, 

By 

MARGARET BARNES PRICE 


All Rights Reserved 





MAR 24 1916 

©CI.A428244 



c/ 

lT 


To My Grandsons 

BapmonO ano Percp. 

On Long Island , tzvo gems sparkling, - 
Treasures pure, of God's Own mouldin 
Light my path zvith joy anew. 
Buds of manhood grand, unfolding; 

In your hearts my heartstrings holding 
Gems and buds, dear boys, are — you! 

Newark, N. J. 

I9I5- 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. page 

Introducing Daddy’s Widow and Uncle Billy. . i 

CHAPTER II. 

The thunder shower. Aunt Molly sees 14 

CHAPTER III. 

Effect of an old song 25 

CHAPTER IV. 

Mrs. Porter’s plea 33 

CHAPTER V. 

The prayer among the scrub-oaks 40 

CHAPTER VI. 

Uncle Toby joins Aunt Sukey 62 

CHAPTER VII. 

Two pictures 69 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A syren in the sanctuary 74 

CHAPTER IX. 

A gift from Sister Ann. The dentist’s victims 80 
CHAPTER X. 

Daddy’s groomsman. Aunt Molly entertains . . 100 
CHAPTER XI. 

A plea rejected. Retribution (?) 115 

CHAPTER XII. 

A donation party. What the palms heard .... 128 
CHAPTER XIII. 

The love-quilt. Was Polly ever Daddy? 143 


ii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XIV. PAGE 

At the swing. Eyes; — mortal and spiritual. . 149 

CHAPTER XV. 

Aunt Molly recalls “Mrs. Jarley’s Wax 

Works” . 165 

CHAPTER XVI. 

At the well. Ronkonkoma. Emma’s 

definition 172 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A list for lovers. A white Scientist and a 
black scoffer 184 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Cedarvale. Invitations . . . . v 192 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A pupil of Walt Whitman’s recites 200 

CHAPTER XX. 

Drugstore cronies 217 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The telegram. Aunt Molly comforts the widow. 223 
CHAPTER XXII. 

Sister Annie’s pneumonia with an “N.” 237 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Town ’Lection. “Three cheers for Aunt 
Molly!” 245 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Harold Russell at Gray Pillars. Goodbye 

forever 250 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Woman and donkey. Cradling by moonlight . . 258 


CONTENTS 


iii 

CHAPTER XXVI. page 

Inspecting the trousseau. An acquaintance of 
Satan’s. Rice and roses 269 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Jealous Uncle Billy. No men-angels. The day 
is set 281 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Pastor and temptress 294 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

An afternoon drive. Tempted 298 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Aunt Molly entertains. Ponto. The tem- 
perance pie. A wedding announcement. . . 307 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

The Judge’s proposal. Duty versus love 319 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Drugstore cronies. The modern Eve ... 324 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Aunt Molly overhears; then romances 329 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A terrible temptation. Prayer’s power 334 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Tramps. Aunt Molly a heroine. Her tele- 
gram. Love and duty 344 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

The missing collar. Wedded; and serenaded. 354 
CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Farewell 363 





DADDY’S WIDOW 


CHAPTER L 

INTRODUCING DADDY’S WIDOW AND UNCLE BILLY, 

You could see your face in the shining black 
stove almost as well as in the polished mirror op- 
posite it. In a low, red-cushioned rocking chair, 
with Tommy Tribulation in her lap, sat Aunt 
Molly. Her tea dishes were washed and put away 
and her evening had begun. 

Polly Adelaide, in her gilt cage, had closed her 
eyes rather than witness her mistress stroking 
Tommy’s glossy fur and not apparently noticing 
that her feathers were ruffled. However, Polly 
knew that she had one advantage over her rival, — 
she could, upon provocation, swear a good, strong 
Spanish oath, and that, too, without fear of being 
reprimanded, as her mistress understood no lan- 
guage but her own. 

Slower and slower yet, Aunt Molly’s wrinkled 
hand stroked Tommy’s soft fur, while she tried 
to solve her old problem, — why she lacked confi- 
dence in her neighbor, Edward Deveau, when 
everyone else had implicit faith in him as a con- 


2 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


sistent Christian, ideal husband and father, and 
the noblest man in Mapleton. An ordinary ob- 
server would pronounce him a pattern for all 
others. But Aunt Molly was not an ordinary ob- 
server; she was a typical Long Islander whose in- 
tuition supplied convictions that outward demon- 
strations could not pervert. 

Edward Deveau’s wife, loving, trusting Violet, 
was Aunt Molly’s ideal; and for Elva, the De- 
veaus’ only child, she would almost have given her 
life. 

As though in deference to his mistress, Tommy 
now modulated his purring till it became a soft 
accompaniment to the remarks addressed to him: 

“Ever sense somebuddy dropped you onter my 
doorstep one cold night, an’ poor Daddy brung you 
in an’ shoved your poor, starved head inter a bowl 
of hot milk an’ christened you ‘Tommy,’ I’ve been 
a mother to yer, hain’t I, sonny? They’s a sort of 
bond atween us; an’ yit yer don’t tell me what I 
wanter know — why I mistrust Edward Deveau. 
The man hisself is so good ter me, I know I ought- 
er feel ’shamed ter feel the way I do. Still, he’s 
onfaithful some’eres er nuther, so my mind-picter 
paints him; an’ the more I wisht he warn’t, the 
more I know he is.” 

By this time Polly decided to hear her own voice 
once more, and commenced conversation by mut- 
tering : “Pleasant day ; can’t always be young.” 

“True ’nough, Polly,” responded Aunt Molly. 
“You an’ me warn’t borned yisterday, an’ we hain’t 
lived fer nuthin,’ nuther. We’re no fools.” 

“Fools ain’t all dead yet,” Polly chimed in. 

“Not by a long short they hain’t!” Aunt Molly 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


3 


concurred, with emphasis. “There’s that poor 
dear angel I see terday, poor Violet, a-lovin’ as 
hard as she kin, an’ a-lovin’ sech a critter! It’s 
jes’ like plantin’ a del’cut snowdrop in a suller 
longside a pork bar’l, an’ watchin’ the pretty 
flower love the pork; an’ when yer see jes’ how 
much ’preciahension the old pork bar’l gives the 
snowdrop, then yer’ll know how much Edward 
Deveau gives his wife. ’Tain’t inter him ter love 
like me an’ you could, Polly. Like’s not he thinks 
he does ; but he’d do best with a nuther pork bar’l. 
P’raps I jedge him too ha’sh; an’ p’raps I don’t. 
I carn’t but b’lieve he’s had some critter er nuther 
tied ter his apernstring, an’ I don’t trust him 
Scripter measure.” 

“ ‘Fair, fair, with golden hair,’ ” sang Polly. 

“Lordy massy, Polly! How cute you be! I 
was jes’ a-thinkin’, too, of that yaller tow-head of 
a Gray woman what moved out from York. Well, 
let ’em buck at it. Ef he’s made trouble fer his- 
self, ’tain’t my funeral. 

“Men’s all alike, Polly; they enjoy deceivin’ 
them what trusts ’em; it’s their natur’, an’ poor 

women must jes’ grin an’ bear it. No knowin’ 

how Daddy would of turned out ef he’d been 
a-livin’ all these years he’s been dead, though he 
was nigh onter seventy when the Good Lord took 
him.” 

Rap ! Rap ! Rap ! came on the door, and without 
waiting to inquire who was there, Aunt Molly de- 
posited Tommy in a small chair and hastened to 
open wide the door and admit a stout, short, el- 
derly man. He wore a red necktie, blue shirt, 

black coat, and brown trousers. His ruddy face 


4 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


beamed with good-nature, and his black eyes glis- 
tened like large jet beads. From beneath his high 
hat, a fringe of gray hair hung and touched the 
collar of his coat. 

With a nod and a smile, but with no word of 
greeting, he walked past his hostess and straight 
to the table upon which he laid a bunch of wild 
flowers. 

“Well, Uncle Billy, got ’round agin ter see us, 
eh? These flowers is jes’ lovely, an’ beat mine all 
holler,” said Aunt Molly, placing them in a large 
glass pitcher. 

“Yes, Aunt Molly; ’twas sech a delicious evenin’ 
I says ter Ponto, ‘Come Pont, ole dog, le’s me an’ 
you go see Aunt Molly’; an’ the dumb brute was 
so glad, he wagged his tail most off.” 

“Well, now ye’re here, take a cheer an’ set 
down ; an’ fer gracious sakes do take off yer stove- 
pipe! A body’d think ’twas a new bunnit yer’d 
raked up. I ’member nine year ago you wore that 
identical same jockey ter Susannah Nicholses wed- 
din’. That was the fust doin’s I ’tended arfter 
Daddy died; an’ you was jes’ ’pearin’ out sence 
’Liz’buth’s death, too.” 

“Yes, I reck’leck; I felt consider ’ble bluish .fer 
a long time arfter ’Liz’buth died, an’ one day I 
went over ter Patchogue an’ bought me this here 
hat; but when I got back home, I found I missed 
her jes’ the same. An’ she useter make sech beau- 
tiful pancakes, — I kin taste ’em yit,” said matter- 
of-fact Uncle Billy. 

“Well, the poor critter is better off, fer she’s got 
to the Country where there hain’t no pancakes ter 
flop over, nuther be there any griddles ter wash,” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 5 

“She was a nawful good woman now I come 
ter think on it,” said Uncle Billy, sighing. 

“So was Daddy,” sympathetically responded 
Aunt Molly, wiping her eyes where no trace of a 
tear had been in several years. Her remark was 
unheeded by her companion, who resumed: 

“Nights when I set by the table with the green 
cover on an’ try ter read my Patchogue Advance , 
I carn’t do it fer thinkin’ how she useter set on 
t’other side an’ knit, knit, knit away. Even the 
Good Book says ’tain’t good fer man ter live alone. 
Whosomever writ it knowed ’twarn’t a man’s 
place ter wash dishes an’ peel tunnips. Oh, how 
I miss ’Liz’buth! An’ ’spacially more so sence 
sister Ann left me in one of her huffs ! She haster 
have them tantrums ev’ry once so often ; I’m glad 
the cranky old maid never had no childern fer me 
ter pity!” 

A new light was dawning upon Aunt Molly’s 
chain of thought that she had woven long ago, 
pleasantly linking her future with Uncle Billy’s. 
By its gleam she saw a possibility that Uncle Billy, 
who, everyone declared, had been courting her for 
the last seven years, might only want her to wash, 
cook, and clean for him. If that were the case, 
the sooner he became acquainted with her senti- 
ments upon the subject, the better; so she began: 

“Well, I don’t tell quite all I know; but some 
folks says that your wife ’Liz’buth worked so 
hard she was almost dead afore she died.” 

“Heavens! Aunt Molly, what do yer mean?” 

“Mean ? What I mean is, I mean a man has no 
right ter marry a woman when all he does it fer is 
ter save wages. I pity anybuddy, man er woman, 


6 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


as would dast arsk me ter marry on them lines. 
Besides, it’s resky bus’ness, this marryin’ a man 
with a dead wife, ’cause he mos’ giner’ly keeps 
her ter fling at the* new one. I’ve had chances an’ 
prob’ly shill agin, so I hain’t throwin’ out no hints. 
But when I do marry agin, it’s not ter be a ser- 
vant ter no man,” 

“Yes, but” — interposed the bewildered Uncle 
Billy. 

“Jest you please wait till I’m done. Comp’ny 
fust, I know, but I’ll finish sence I’m started. 

“No, sir, I marries no man ter work fer. I kin 
do my own work easy an’ have no boss; but that 
don’t argify that I want ter do twice as much jes’ 
fer the sake of havin’ a man alius ’round under 
foot. I worked fer Daddy till the Good Lord got 
ready fer him; an’ often when I think how much 
less I hafter do now an’ put up with, I carn’t but 
say the Lord kneweth best.” 

“Now Aunt Molly,” — the little man spoke very 
mildly, — “me an’ you’s never had a quar’l yit, an’ 
we’re both too old ter begin now. What you say 
’bout ’Liz’buth may be part true; but ’tain’t my 
fault, fer I never wanted her ter scrub so much, 
ner ter keep puckerin’ away with needle an’ thread 
when she might of been a-restin’. Why, even now 
I ’member once when she was a-scrubbin’ away on 
all fours fer dear life” 

Aunt Molly could not repress a little cackling 
laugh at the picture Uncle Billy’s description pre- 
sented of the over-tall Elizabeth; but he was rat- 
tling along so fast he did not notice it. 

— “I warned her by tellin’ ’bout a woman who 
scrubbed her floor so much she wore it through 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


7 

an’ fell kerchunk down inter the suller. It’s a 
woman’s own fault ef she works too much. Sure, 
she gits missed most awful arfter she’s gone” 

“ Course ! But it’s arfter she’s gone where she 
carn’t listen through any keyhole ter hear her rel- 
luck say jes’ them words that she would of been 
so glad ter hear when they was due,” interpolated 
Aunt Molly. 

“I s’pose so ; I dunno but ye’re right. But ye’re 
kinder bitter ternight, — diff’runt from yer gin’ral 
self. Ef Ponto an’ me has put yer outer sorts, 
ye’ve on’y got ter say so, an’ then watch us slide.” 

“Mercy no! I like ter have yer drop in; it 
breaks up the lonesomeness of livin’ alone. Not 
but what I enjoy that sort of livin’; but I like ter 
have my friends come a-visitin’, too, also.” 

A brief silence ensued, broken only by Tommy’s 
asthmatic song, as he rubbed his shiny, fat sides 
against Uncle Billy’s trousers, affectionately dem- 
onstrating that his ideas coincided with his mis- 
tress’s last remark. 

All this time Polly was keenly watching Uncle 
Billy, raising first one foot and then the other 
from her perch. So seldom did Uncle Billy notice 
her that she resented it when he did. Several times 
now he had looked from the bird to Aunt Molly- 
till the latter inquired: 

“Be yer tryin’ ter tell t’other from which? Ye’ve 
shifted yer gaze atween me an’ Polly so long, I 
thought mebbe yer was a-gittin’ kinder befuddled 
in the eyesight.” 

The remark pleasingly assured Uncle Billy that 
his hostess was herself again. He coughed, pulled 
his coat collar a little higher, took out his red ban- 


8 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


dana, got it half way to his nose before he realized 
that it was not needed there, and then began to 
wind it around his wrist. 

This procedure greatly amused his companion, 
who was now positive that her guest was summon- 
ing all his courage for a trying ordeal in which she 
resolved not to render him a particle of aid. 

With his look of perplexity gradually increas- 
ing, Uncle Billy began: 

“I've been a-thinkin’ — a-thinkin’ — as how” — the 
wrist had been done up long enough now, so he 
unrolled the bandana from it, and making the 
handkerchief shawl-shaped, began tapping his arm 
with it — “mebbe — we, that is, you an’ me, — mebbe 
we could kinder fill ’Liz’buth’s an’ Daddy’s places.” 

“Lor me ! where ? in the grave ? Not for mine !” 
exclaimed Aunt Molly, teasingly. 

“No, no! We might — git married!” he almost 
shouted; and then, the terrible strain over, it was 
several seconds before he found voice to continue : 
“I commenced ter tell yer this, years ago ; but you 
have sech a way of gittin’ me upsot an’ takin’ the 
wind out of my sails, I dassent. What d’yer think 
'bout it, Molly, — dear?” 

The time a woman accepts a second husband, is 
more solemn than when she said “yes” to the first 
one, and Aunt Molly’s voice was in accord with the 
moment. Her wrinkled hands brushed a few 
imaginary specks from her black silk apron as she 
slowly replied: 

“Ah, hum; I carn’t say as this is very sudden; 
still, we might both look futher an’ fare wuss. An’ 
— an* so, ef yer want me so much, I — I guess I’ll 
hafter take yer, Billy, — dear !” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


9 


The bandana was now tightly wound around the 
wooer’s left arm, and there was nothing in his pock- 
ets except his pipe, tobacco, and jack-knife, or V 
would have been delighted to wind up his other 
arm; anything to keep his hands employed while 
he was cudgeling his brain to recall what should 
follow a proposal and its acceptance. 

Aunt Molly’s lithe little figure rocked energeti- 
cally back and forth in the low, cushioned rocker, 
until there dawned simultaneously upon her and 
Uncle Billy that a little expression of affection 
would not be amiss; and so, rising from their 
chairs, they met in the middle of the room, and 
with their arms around each other’s neck, gave one 
puckery kiss, and so sealed the compact. 

At the first sound of a shrill “Ha ! ha ! ha !” from 
Polly, the little fiancee stooped and slipped her 
head from the noose made by her intended’s arms, 
and nimbly planked her hands tightly by her sides, 
thus leaving the astonished Uncle Billy, with mo- 
tionless arms, clasping the air. 

In spite of her whitened locks, cheeks that would 
never again have the bloom of the rose, and hands 
that, when Daddy wooed her, had been prettily 
dimpled, but that now were traversed by veins 
through which the blood flowed with such unvary- 
ing slowness that even the pressure of her aged 
lover’s lips upon her own the previous evening did 
not alter its pace, Aunt Molly was unusually happy 
this morning. It was baking day, and she kept 
time to the revolutions of the rolling-pin, by sing- 
ing, “Oh, let us be joyful, We meet to part no 
more.” 


10 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


Polly Adelaide soon took up the refrain, but 
sang it, “We part to meet no more.” 

“Lor, Polly! Yer mixed wusser’n this jumble 
dough is ; it's ‘meet ter part no more,' ” exclaimed 
Aunt Molly, surprised at Polly’s inaccuracy. 

But the parrot had a contrary streak, and sang 
as before. 

“Polly, you quit that! Ef this was a gloomy, 
glumpy day yer’d give me a ‘tackt of highstericks, 
fer Fd think mebbe you knowed of some harm a- 
comin’ to Uncle Billy; but sech a heavenly day as 
this cam’t bring no trouble ter nobuddy, let alone 
a man!” 

Just then a colored man stopped at the door and 
handed in a letter he had brought from the village 
Post Office. “You see,” said he, “the woman-post- 
man ast me would Ah take it ’long wiv Massa 
Harol’s, an’ stop yere wiv it, an’ Ah said ‘Suht’nly ; 
anyfing to please a lady,’ foh Ah’m fond of la- 
dies, yas’m, Ah am; but Ah s’posen Ah don’ look 
it; no mahm!” 

“Who the ole scratch is ‘massy Harrill ?’ ” in- 
quired Aunt Molly, surveying the stranger before 
her. “O, I guess I know — I s’pose he’s some of 
the new people on old Uncle Jeremy’s place ! Well, 
I’m ’bliged ter yer fer bringin’ me this letter. Have 
a jumble?” 

The man accepted the hot cake; and then Aunt 
Molly, holding the letter as far in front of her as 
her arms would extend, her head thrown back to 
increase the distance, stared dubiously at the super- 
scription, and soliloquized : 

“Now who in thunderation kin this be from? 
Nobuddy I know. I got Cousin Car’line’s letter 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


ii 


larst month, an' she won’t write agin till jes’ afore 
Chris’mas, like’s not.” 

“Ah do’no, mahm, who it’s fum,” said the man, 
apologetically, his presence outside her door Aunt 
Molly having entirely forgotten ; but who now po- 
litely raised his cap, bade her good morning, and 
departed. 

Aunt Molly raised her spectacles from their 
stronghold upon her nose, to a firmer position on 
top of her head, but could see no clearer. She held 
the letter sideways, then above her head; then she 
shook it ; finally it occurred to her to open it. 

Sure enough, though, it was from Car’line, and 
briefly told a sad tale : Ben, her husband, had been 
run into by a wagon-pole while trying to stop a 
runaway team for a widow, and Car’line feared his 
injuries would prove fatal. 

“Dear, dear!” exclaimed Aunt Molly after a 
second reading of the document; “seems as ef he 
didn’t know how to steer hisself. He shouldn’t 
oughter be practicin’ no sech stunts at his age an’ 
gittin’ poor Car’line all upsot. That’s one of the 
misfortunes of marryin’ a man; even ef yer love 
him, ye’re continerly afeered sumpin’ll happen to 
him; an ef yer don’t love him, it takes harf yer 
time wonderin’ why sumpin alius happens ter some 
other man an’ not yourn. It’s an oneven world, 
whichever way yer look at it. Guess I’ll slip inter 
my new alpacky, soon’s I git dinner over with, an’ 
go an ’call on them new people. Ef I don’t stay 
too long, I’ll stop to Violet’s on my way back. 

“Funny how folks affects me! Some makes 
me feel like I wanter pummel somebuddy, — any- 
buddy. Then agin others makes me feel as ef I 


12 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


wanter be good an' ter do good. Violet makes 
me feel that way. I carn’t ’xplain it 'cause I don’t 
know what it is. I know she throws out some- 
thin’ ketchin', an’ sprinkles it onter folks an’ makes 
them grow better, like water does flowers. There 
must be a name fer it, fer all it hain’t a disease. 
I give it up; but I b’lieve in it strong; I b’lieve one 
person kin make other folks happy er wicked jes’ 
by breathin’ near ’em. I dunno how, but it’s so!” 

A cold luncheon with a cup of hot tea consti- 
tuted Aunt Molly’s dinner that day, for she was 
too unsettled to eat a hearty meal. 

Gathering a large bunch of her choicest flowers, 
she hurriedly arranged and tied them; then, as the 
gate clicked behind her, she raised her new “al- 
packy” skirt to avoid the dust, and almost flew 
along the road. 

The call at the cottage of the new neighbors was 
disappointing; and as Aunt Molly, still carrying 
the bouquet, was proceeding to Mrs. Deveau’s, 
Larry, the colored man who had delivered the let- 
ter only that morning, was relating to his employer 
what had occurred in that gentleman’s absence. 

“ ’Bout 'leben minutes ub free, Massa, Ah see 
suthin’ scuhhyin’ ’long; Ah watched hit, an bahm- 
bye Ah see hit was de cookey woman. 'Long she 
come, trapesin’ up de lane aholtin’ onter her petti- 
cuts an ’askin’ me ob mah missus was home. Ah 
had to tell her Ah didn’ hab no missus, — dat you 
wasn’ mahhied an’ so wasn’ Ah mahse’f. 

“Den off she kinder backs like she wah paht 
tuhkle an’ say : ‘Oh ! no wimmon in dis yere house, 
eh!’ Ah say: ‘No mahm, no wimmin cep’ us 
men.’ ” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


*3 

“You have not yet told me the lady’s name,” 
said Dr. Russell. 

“Now Ah’m stuck, Massa; foh ob Ah was ter 
pull eb’ry kink outen mah haid, Ah couldn’ git off 
dat name. Soun’ like tuhnin’ summersets upsi’ 
down.” 

“You probably mean Mrs. L’Hommedieu, an old 
lady, of whom I have heard Mrs. Deveau speak. 
She is a little eccentric, but her heart is in the right 
place ; and hearts are always trumps in the game of 
life, boy,” said Dr. Russell. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE THUNDER-SHOWER. AUNT MOLLY sees. 

Strangers driving by the Deveau place were 
impressed by the harmony of color and the air of 
tranquillity existing everywhere about it. The 
house, a large two-story and attic one, with just 
enough fancy moulding to decorate it, was painted 
white, and along its eastern side a purple wisteria 
climbed and bloomed luxuriantly. The lawn was 
like an immense roll of green velvet. Just beyond 
where a trellis supported a fragrant honeysuckle, 
was a rustic summer-house to which crimson ram- 
blers gave seclusion. The red barn, with its gilt 
weathervane appearing to touch the clear blue sky, 
was not too high to obscure the cluster of dark 
green cedars growing on a knoll beyond it. A 
maple hedge now robed in shimmering green 
which later would be transposed by fairy fingers 
into gorgeous autumnal colors, formed the north- 
ern boundary to a field of fodder corn. 

In the clover lot, Bessie and her daughter Cora, 
the gentle Alderneys with big brown eyes, occa- 
sionally paused while grazing, as though to admire 
the beauty of the scene around them. 

Down in the buckwheat lot, bees were buzzing 
and hurrying as though this bright day might be 
their last for gathering honey from the minute, 
feathery flowers. A brown-thrush sang from his 
*4 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


15 

leafy seat in the oak tree by the bars, while not far 
off, a cat-bird would pick a ripe, juicy white ox- 
heart from the cherry tree, and then deny his pil- 
fering, by calling loudly, so all the other birds 
could hear: “I can’t — I can’t!” None believed 
him, for he invariably told the same fib after each 
theft. 

Edward Deveau, the owner of the place, was a 
large, thick-set man of ruddy complexion. His 
neck was red, coarse and seamy. His dark gray 
eyes noted everything within range, while appear- 
ing to see but one thing. He was the one neighbor 
of whom Aunt Molly had always been distrustful, 
while she admitted that as far as she had seen, he 
was a model husband and the best of neighbors. 
Yet, during her sixteen years of acquaintance with 
him, she still adhered to her first impression formed 
when she met him riding with Violet Cameron 
during their courtship, and imparted to “Daddy” 
upon her return home: 

“At larst I’ve seen Violet’s financy ! He was a- 
drivin’ one of the Cameron horses lickerty-ker- 
split down the tu’npike, an’ sweet Violet was with 
him. Ter me it seemed as ef he was some great 
big bull, a-settin’ up there onter the carriage seat, 
with a gentle fawn ’long-sider him. He didn’t 
look a bit pure an’ faithful ; but we’ll find it all out 
some day ef we live long ’nough.” 

Surely, from the man’s unvarying kindness to 
his wife, his exemplary life outside of his home 
circle, and the unstinted praise on everyone’s lips 
for him, Aunt Molly must have been mistaken. 

Edward Deveau was one of the few farmers 
who are scrupulously particular regarding their 


i6 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


personal appearance, whether following the 
plough, directing his men, or enjoying a cool after- 
noon hour on his spacious piazza, entertaining 
callers. 

Mr. Deveau’s wife and daughter had just re- 
turned from a drive to the station where they had 
taken a guest, Richard Carghill, to the train; and 
while Mr. Deveau was putting the carriage up, he 
was congratulating himself upon the evident pros- 
pect of at no distant date, having a son-in-law of 
whom he could be justly proud. 

Suddenly there came a clear, cheery voice from 
the path by the barn: 

“I dunno but what I’d as ruther be a horse of 
yourn, as ter be a wife ter some men Fve knowed. 
Alius brushin’ down their glassy coats till they 
shine like satin! Daddy useter say that a good 
brushin’ was eq’al to a mess of oats. Your ani- 
mals gits both. ,, 

'“Hul-lo Aunt Molly! You’re spry as a kitten 
yet! I bet you jumped over that five-rail fence 
instead of walking on to the gate.” 

“Course I did; ter save time an’ shoe-leather. 
As Daddy useter say, ‘Nuthin’ like bein’ ’kinomi- 
cal.’ ” 

“Violet has just returned from the village and 
looks as fresh as a pink, — a white one, to be sure, 
but a sweet one. Go in and see her. She and 
Elva both have missed you awfully while you have 
been away. How did you leave your people down 
east? Greenport, isn’t it?” 

“All as lively as fried oysters, thank yer. Yes, 
way down ter Greenport, nigh onter seventy tnil§ 
from home,” replied Aunt Molly, 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


n 

Everyone in town welcomed Mrs. Mary L’Hom- 
medieu, or “Aunt Molly,” as she preferred to be 
called ; but at no place did she feel as much at home 
as at the Deveaus’. She seldom waited for greet- 
ings, but launched out upon the object of each in- 
dividual visit. 

As she entered the house this afternoon, she be- 
gan : “Lorgeons ! but I'm glad ter see you an’ Elva 
agin. Massy, ef that gal don’t grow prettier ev’ry 
week. An’ fer all that, she carn’t never eq’al her 
mother. Thought I’d stop in an’ tell yer what a 
fool I jes’ made of myself. I’ve lived more’n sixty 
year an’ never cut no sech caper afore. What do 
yer s’pose I done but call on a nigger; yes I did, 
an’ a man nigger at that! I’m ’shamed ter tell it, 
but 'murder will out’; I jes’ went an’ called on 
them new people what moved here whilst I was 
away, an’ I’ll be blessed ef there was a woman 
amongst ’em. All the way here I kep’ tellin’ my- 
self ter hurry an’ advise you not ter go anigh ’em. 

“Fust place, they’re Yorkers; an’ you know my 
’pinion of all sech specie. Poor mother married 
one on ’em, with his palaverin’ ways, an’ he broke 
her heart; an’ all she had ter leave her younguns, 
all dead now but me, was a sayin’ of her own: 
‘Don’t never be tooken in by Yorkers!’ I steer my 
bark clear of ’em. There may be a good one ’ca- 
sionally by accident, but I doubt it. Ketch me a- 
callin’ ef I’d knowed they was Yorkers!” 

Aunt Molly could not understand why Elva and 
her mother should both look at her with increas- 
ing amusement, until the former explained : 

“Now at last, for the first time, we have a joke 
on you, Aunt Molly, for our new neighbor, who is 


i8 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


a bachelor, is an old friend of Papa’s, though 
Mama and I never met him until recently.” 

“He has already heard of you, Aunt Molly,” 
said Violet; “I believe you will like him immense- 
ly. He is a physician who has inherited consider- 
able wealth, and he intends to retire from practice. 
He thinks Mapleton a delightful place, and will 
reside here permanently. The colored man whom 
you saw, was brought up by the doctor’s parents, 
and attended the doctor when he was in college. 
Dr. Russell considers him invaluable as a servant.” 

Aunt Molly, only partially mollified, remarked: 
“I thought he ’peared to of been a maid some’eres.” 

Supper was ready, and Elva placed a chair at 
the table for the guest, who, accepting it, said : “It 
does beat all that I never wait ter be arst twice ter 
stay ter meals here; an’ I love ter come, it’s so 
home-like, an’ there’s alius sech lovely cookin’ ter 
eat. Mandy Smith was ter my house one day, 
braggin’ ’bout Debbie Youngs’s biscuit, an’ I didn’ 
like it much, nuther, so I ups an’ says: ‘Ef yer 
want ter see cotton-battin’ pufiFs, you look at Vio- 
let Deveau’s biscuits — they take the kink outer 
ev’rybuddy else’s.’ She said she’d like ter, so I 
invited her ter come take tea with yer some night.” 

A moment’s quiet succeeded Mr. Deveau’s ask- 
ing the blessing, and then Aunt Molly resumed her 
former subject: “Tennyrate, when I see on’y the 
darkey was ter home, I says : T’m Mrs. L’Homme- 
dieu!’ an’ he looked as thunder-struck as ef I’d 
said I was the angel Gabr’el! He jest stared a 
minute, complexed like, an’ then he grinned an’ 
showed them big white teeth of hisn. I come on 
an’ lef’ him a-standin’ there. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


19 

“But ef they’re friends of yourn, all right. I 
knowed I’d feel better ef I got here.” 

Thunder storms seem to come up quicker in 
Mapleton than elsewhere. Only before supper, 
Elva had called attention to two beautiful, white 
iclouds that looked like mountains of snow in the 
clear, blue, southwestern sky. Within an hour 
they became dark, and angrily summoned rein- 
forcements from all over the horizon. They dark- 
ened the land, and when with appalling roll they 
met, their fierce thunder made the earth tremble. 

The blinding flash of electric fire accompanying 
the storm, was instantly succeeded by a terrific 
crash, as a grand old sycamore tree near the car- 
riage house splintered, uprooted, and fell to the 
ground. 

While Mr. Deveau hastened to the barn to see 
if his horses were safe, and Elva was attending to 
the upper windows of the house, Aunt Molly rush- 
ed to close the parlor windows; but she was 
blinded by the lightning flash and had to grope 
her way. When she had succeeded in closing them, 
the storm began to abate. Returning to the table, 
when the others were again seated, she said 
quietly : 

“Sech a performance up in the heavens alius 
makes me feel ser’ous, it’s so like livin’. One min- 
ute all is ca’m an’ serene ; but afore yer know it, 
words is misconstructed, an’ all the anger we kin 
git comes ter the top. Yit right in the middle of a 
quar’l, when our words is cruellest, an’ we’ve 
stepped closer to each other so’s ter jaw better 
an’ louder, we git halted by a flash of the light of 
the love we useter have . Mebbe we commence 


20 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


rowin' agin, 'cause we're too cussed mean ter stop 
sudden; while ef we’d on’y quiet down, the light- 
nin' of love would grow broader each flash, till 
fin’lly a bright golden stream would shine full 
atween us an’ all clouds, an’ through our glistenin' 
tears we’d see the rainbow of joy. 

“I done some quar’lin’ with Daddy in my time, 
an’ ever sence he lef’ me a widder an’ a thunder 
storm comes up quick, them times comes back 
sharp ter me; an’ I wisht, oh, I do wisht I hadn’t 
of done it!” 

Edward Deveau’s face was almost crimson; his 
wife’s was colorless. She swayed and would have 
fallen from her chair had he not caught her. As 
soon as she could speak again, he went hurriedly 
for Doctor Russell. 

Aunt Molly felt that somehow her recital had 
struck home to her host and hostess, though she 
had had no thought of them in her mind at the 
time; and now no earthly power could convince 
the old lady that there had not recently been some 
serious trouble between the husband and wife. 

Fluttering anxiously around the woman she 
loved beyond all others, Aunt Molly pityingly said : 
“Yer look jes’ like a squashed lily, you poor, wilted 
dear; don’t she, Elva? You go an’ help Juliet, 
child; I’ll nuss yer mother;” and when Elva, not 
resenting her unceremonious banishment, com- 
plied, Aunt Molly continued : “Ef I could on’y say 
what I wanter ! But I mus’n’t, so I’ll keep my ole 
jaw. Feel better now? Let me bathe yer hair 
with this clear water. I didn’ put no pneumonia 
in it, ’cause I did that once on Miss Thompson’s, 
an’ it give her red clumps of hair ’mongst her 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


21 


brown. She dicin’ like it much, nuther. This is 
nice, cool water. Now sniff this ’ere bottle agin. 
Yer all right now, poor critter; an I know the hull! 
Carn’t yer trust ole Aunt Molly? Don’t talk, but 
jes’ trust ! It’ll all come right, fer God rules. Yer 
never hear me jabber much ’bout sech things; — I 
feel whilst others talk. Yes, God will make it all 
come right. I’m so sorry,” sobbed the sympathetic 
old lady, “I could die fer yer; — but ’twouldn’t do 
no good. What’s my ole carcass wuth, anyhow, 
while you are young an’ beautiful, an’ oughter be 
loved an’ petted an’ shielded. 

“Now lean back aginst this pretty cushion an’ 
take a spoonful of hot brandy I’ve fixed fer yer. 
Don’t talk. Never mind what I said, — I don’t 
reck’leck it all, myself, an’ like’s not I got it all 
crooked. 

“Yer pretty jump-up- Johnnies fell out of yer 
belt when I onloosed it, an’ here they be, scattered 
on the floor, so when yer git up yer kin do as the 
good ole hymn says, walk on ‘flow’ry beds of ease.’ 
Heavens upon airth! Here’s that darkey’s boss! 
He mus’n’t put his hoofs upun ’em!” 

The last remark was in an undertone; and then 
aloud, the speaker added pleasantly: “Come in, 
Doctor Russell!” 

A little above medium height, splendidly pro- 
portioned, dark as a Spaniard; his hair so wavy 
and so silky that his barber protested against cut- 
ting it as short as its possessor wished ; intellectual 
and refined; combining strength with tenderness; 
his friendship invaluable; — one of Nature’s noble- 
men was Doctor Harold Russell! 

“Do I intrude? May I be admitted as a neces- 


22 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


sary evil, a physician? You are not feeling well, 
I am sorry to learn, Mrs. Deveau,” said the doc- 
tor. “Let me see what I can do for you.” 

Instantly Aunt Molly volunteered : “Lor ! yer 
carn’t do nuthin’ ! I’ve give her the pneumony bot- 
tle ter smell, an’ ’ministered some brandy, an’ she’ll 
be her bright self agin, ter rights.” 

“May not a little pleasant news aid the recov- 
ery? I believe it will, and while I admit that pur 
patient is already under most excellent treatment, 
I will nevertheless prescribe it: 

“I have had a most pleasurable surprise, Mrs. 
Deveau. My sister arrived from California this 
evening, and I am longing for her to meet you all. 
Until you see her, you cannot imagine what a 
powerful dispeller of everything unpleasant she 
is. But pity me ! My days of freedom are ended, 
and I am to be swayed by a woman’s whims, at 
last!” 

“Jes’ look at our patient now, Doctor Russell; 
don’t I know how ter fetch her ’round?” asked 
Aunt Molly. 

“Unquestionably, Mrs .L’Hommedieu. The ad- 
ministering of simple home remedies that we doc- 
tors are so jealous of, often does more good and 
far less harm, than does the dosing with wonder- 
ful drugs with unpronounceable names, which we 
prescribe.” Then turning again to Mrs. Deveau, 
the doctor continued: “You will surely like my sis- 
ter, Mrs. Hilliard, and I prophesy that you and she 
will become the best of friends. We both await an 
early call from you.” 

Soon after the doctor had gone, Aunt Molly, 
admonishing Mr. Deveau to send instantly for her 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


23 

if there were any earthly thing she could do for 
his wife, took her departure. Scarcely had she 
closed the gate when she thought : “How contrary 
things does go in this world. Ef my lily in there 
on’y could bloom fer secli a studdy oak as this 
Doctor Russell ’pears ter be, stidder fadin’ as she 
will ef she lives much longer with that — -.that — 
giunt thistle, who is like p’ison ivy to her, though 
she don’t know it, poor, innercent dear! How I 
wisht I’d never knowed ’bout him! An’ how I 
wisht I knowed how I knowed, when nobuddy said 
nuthin’. I feel it in my bones, that’s how. 

“Well, mebbe he’ll git his reward an’ mebbe he 
won’t. Strange that he kin keep the cloak of 
’spect’bleness ’round him so tight ev’rybuddy 
b’lieves he’s a saint. One leetle, teeny corner 
flopped open ternight, Mr. Edward Deveau, when 
my words made a flush mantilla on yer brow, an’ 
I seen through! Now let them as wants. ter, bow 
down ter yer ginerousness an’ r’ligion, which is 
good things ter have, I’ll admit; but I’d call yer 
more of a man, ’thout the r’ligion. Yit fer all, on 
’count of that poor lily in there, I must be a hyper- 
crit, too, an’ pertend friendship fer yer; but the 
Lord knows it’s on’y fer Violet’s sake, so He’ll 
fergive me.” 

Aunt Molly, looking up, was surprised to find 
that she had already passed the pine thicket. “Too 
much time wasted thinkin’ ugly thoughts. Them’s 
what makes people’s faces snarl all up; an’ ole 
folks ’spacially must be car’ full” 

Slowly the veiny hands of the little, sham-de- 
spising woman unclenched as memory recalled the 
sweet picture of Elva standing with one arm 


24 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


around her mother’s neck, and raising her pretty 
lips to receive her mother’s kiss. 

“How happy them two alius is tergether!” 
mused the dear old lady, pausing as though in rev- 
erence before the passing picture. “Mother-love 
must be a grand thing; but God denied it ter me. 
I never heerd a little voice call me ‘Mother,’ ner 
felt kisses that on’y one’s own babe kin give. 
But — ” a big sigh came from the heart that in the 
long-ago had reserved a place for a little stranger 
who never came. 

God heard the sigh, and He knew that in the 
hereafter when all shall be made clear, Aunt Molly 
would praise the wise, loving Hand that withheld 
from her what her heart had most craved, and 
would admit that the Father “doeth all things 
well.” 

The sigh passed, and with her customary cheer- 
fulness and resignation, Aunt Molly continued: 
“But Tommy answers very well; an’ with him I 
don’t hafter worry as he grows older fer fear he’ll 
come home drunk nights. An’ Polly, poor bird, 
will never cause me sorrer like some daughters 
might of, by lovin’ the wrong man. 

“So I’m blessed, I reckon, ef I on’y knowed it. 
An’ besides, ” with a smile, Aunt Molly quick- 

ened her pace; and as she closed her own gate, she 
was humming the old hymn : 

“Blest be the tie that binds 
Our glowing hearts in one.” 

And who can blame her if her thoughts were 
fixed tenderly upon Uncle Billy? 


CHAPTER III. 


EFFECT OF AN OLD SONG. 

“Look sharp, Miss Elba; there's the new doc- 
tor's silber-gray Alpine mobin’ 'long ober the 
hedge; shouldn’ wonder ob he was under it, huh? 
Wait a minute! Gosh, it's him; an’ whoo! whut 
a wision ob beauty’s cornin’ in ahead ub him ! Run 
tell you maw!” exclaimed Juliet, the mulatto girl 
employed by Mrs. Deveau. 

The timely notice enabled Mrs. Deveau to be 
out upon the piazza just as her gate was opened by 
a rather diminutive specimen of perfect woman- 
hood whom she advanced to meet. 

With her black eyes sparkling, white teeth 
gleaming, her jet-black hair arranged most becom- 
ingly for a setting to her beautiful face; her cos- 
tume all that could be desired to lend a pleasing out- 
line to her plump, graceful figure, up the path came 
Mrs. Dorothy Hilliard, with her handsome brother 
beside her. 

A smile of loving sympathy was upon the face 
of the new guest. “Bewitching,” was the term 
Violet mentally applied to her; while Mrs. Hil- 
liard’s unspoken comment upon Violet, was, “an- 
gelic.” 

“My dear Mrs. Deveau,” said Doctor Russell, 
“I have taken the liberty of bringing my sister to 
call and learn how you are, after your indisposi- 
25 


26 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


tion last evening. Will you pardon me, and per- 
mit me, Adam-like, to lay the blame for our pres- 
ence here, upon the woman? Mrs. Deveau, Mrs. 
Hilliard.” 

To Violet’s cordial greeting Mrs. Hilliard re- 
sponded : 

“Really, it was almost rude in me to come; but 
I felt anxious about you after Brother Hafold told 
me you were ill. We intend to stop only a min- 
ute, and break the ice for our friendship which it 
seems to me has been existing, though it was snow- 
bound, for years.” 

Elva now glided into the parlor; but before her 
mother could present her, Mrs. Hilliard arose from 
the sofa and was greeting her affectionately. 

“Is this really Elva about whom I have heard 
so much? Why, I love you already, Dolly; kiss 
me, quick!” 

Elva delightedly complied, and instinctively felt 
that, despite the difference in their ages, she had 
found a new friend and comrade. 

Mrs. Hilliard’s impulsiveness was new to Violet. 
She wished that she could be more demonstrative, 
not realizing that her dignity and conservatism 
were also charming. 

Mr. Deveau, just returned from a day in the 
city, greeted Mrs. Hilliard effusively, not conceal- 
ing his admiration of her healthful beauty. 

Doctor Russell watched his host’s eyes as they 
took in every feature of his sister’s beautiful face ; 
as they rested an instant with the calm pride of 
possession upon his wife; and then fell, with pure 
delight, upon his fairy-like daughter to whom he 
motioned, and who then went up, and, twining her 


DADDY’S WIDOW* 


27 


arms around his coarse neck, placed her velvet-like 
cheek against his rough, weather-beaten one, and 
kissed him. 

The gentlemen went out upon the piazza to 
smoke and chat. Mrs. Hilliard, placing her arm 
around Elva and giving her an affectionate little 
squeeze, said: 

“Sweetheart, I want you to bring Mama to see 
me very soon. You know where I live; isn’t it a 
cute little box? I tell Brother Harold that in or- 
der to remain comfortable there this winter, we 
will have to bury ourselves as woodchucks do, un- 
til the snows have melted and spring calls us to 
come out.” 

“Thank you, I will, Mrs. Hilliard,” Elva re- 
sponded. 

“Do not call me ‘Mrs. Hilliard,’ darling; call 
me — let me see! My name is Dorothy, — isn’t it 
terrible? My big brother makes fun of me be- 
cause I am only as high as his heart, he says, so he 
calls me ‘Dot.’ I would like you to call me Aunt 
Dot, — may she, Mrs. Deveau?” 

“Certainly, with pleasure to both herself and 
me,” replied Violet. “I have not a relative living, 
that I know of.” 

“And I am almost a stranger to the few that I 
have,” said Mrs. Hilliard. “After Mr. Hilliard 
and I were married, we went to California to live. 
He was twenty years my senior, and so kind and 
tender! I know I often troubled him, for I was 
all life and vivacity, while he was devoted to study, 
and loved to pore over subjects too deep for me to 
attempt to understand. For hours at a time, he 
would remain plunged in such serious thought, he 


28 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


was almost like a wooden husband. Still, I loved 
his great, big, true heart; he seemed like father 
and husband combined.” 

Suddenly realizing that she had perhaps been 
giving a too long recital, Mrs. Hilliard apologized : 
“Oh, my! May I ask your pardon? I have about 
talked you to death. I wish Harold had been 
here to have stopped me.” 

“I should have remonstrated had Doctor Russell 
attempted to even interrupt you,” responded Vio- 
let. “And so you have lived in the free, glorious 
West ! How delightful ! Most of my life has been 
spent right here. I was only sixteen when my fa- 
ther's health began to fail, and he sold the farm 
to Mr. Deveau ; and that gentleman, with pleasant 
audacity, declared a year later that I had been in- 
cluded in the sale. Father respected him highly, 
and it was his wish that I marry Mr. Deveau. I 
should have complied even had I not cared for him. 
Many fathers do choose for their daughters, you 
know.” 

“Indeed they too often do,” protested Mrs. Hil- 
liard. “I am glad that your case has proved an 
exception to the usual result in made-to-order mar- 
riages. I believe that each young heart sends out 
a sweet call to the mate God intended for it; and 
though the ocean divide them, the responsive note 
is sent thrilling along; and then will surely follow 
the meeting and the union. That is a true love 
match. I have never yet found my ideal, and I 
say so with all due respect to my late husband. My 
voice must have been croupy when my love-note 
sounded; or else my ears were turned toward the 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


29 

wrong direction when my would-be mate called 
to me. 

“My life with Mr. Hilliard was as happy as he 
knew how to make it ; and with the stupidity of old 
men with their young wives, he idolized me. But 
all that is past now, and I have only Brother Har- 
old in all this wide world/’ 

“I always wanted a brother,” — Violet began, 
when her guest interrupted pleasantly with : 

“I will share mine with you ; and I believe I hear 
his wings rustling in approval.” 

The gentlemen entered ; the host suggested hav- 
ing some music, and at the request of her guests, 
Mrs. Deveau complied. Doctor Russell politely 
turned the pages for the player, and his sister, look- 
ing admiringly at the pair, thought : “What a per- 
fect picture those two make! His dark locks and 
her golden hair; his deferential manner and her 
sweet dignity; — a combination simply grand!” 

Mrs. Hilliard was requested to play. “Spare 
yourselves, I implore ; I never play. I rattle along 
so in my effort' to reach the finale before everyone 
battles to stifle a yawn, that I spoil every composi- 
tion I attack. As for accompaniments, if I under- 
take one as I occasionally do under great provoca- 
tion, I am half through while the vocalist is lan- 
guishing around the first line. 

“No, really, the only time I will consider that I 
am playing in an appropriate manner, will be at 
the funeral of some aged man who has left a gay 
young widow, and an immense fortune to her. 
Then my hasty rendering of the funeral march 
will touch a responsive chord in her joy-concealing 


30 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


bosom. Upon any other occasion my efforts to 
please are not appreciable.” 

“You certainly underrate your ability, Sister. 
Last evening I remarked how charmingly you 
played and sang ‘Kathleen Mavourneen’.” 

“That, Harold, was because my fingers ached 
from driving Prince Hal all the way home. He had 
taken the bit between his teeth, and pulled furiously 
on the reins. When I touched the keys, my fin- 
gers were quite tired and docile. They are entirely 
rested now, however.” 

“Please play for us, Aunt Dot,” petitioned Elva. 

“That title sounded so sweet that I cannot re- 
sist complying; so I will make the effort, darling, 
if you will be on guard and promise to give the 
alarm just the instant our audience begins to show 
evidence of nervousness,” responded Mrs. Hilliard. 

As was expected, the listeners were delighted. 
Fairy fingers could not have more delicately and 
perfectly interpreted the composer’s meaning, than 
did the small, dimpled, jeweled ones of Dorothy 
Hilliard. 

Violet had just resolved to never again sing be- 
fore so finished a musician, when Mr. Deveau sur- 
prised her by saying: 

“Mrs. Deveau will sing my favorite song for 
you. Please, Violet,” he added, ere his wife could 
voice her protest. 

The requested song always produced a singular 
effect upon Edward Deveau. He said that it 
seemed to bear him away to an unknown country; 
yet in spite of that, it charmed him. The imaginary 
trip was not a pleasant one, if one could rightly in- 
terpret the look of hesitation^ resistance, and final 


DADDY’S WIDOW 31 

surrender that overspread his countenance during 
its progress. 

Violet played a prelude, and her husband was in- 
stantly wrapped in thought. Then, as his wife’s 
tremulous but sweetly sympathetic voice sang: 

“When other lips and other hearts, 

Jheir tales of love shall tell, 

***** 

Then you’ll remember, you’ll remember me,” 

the robust man glanced suddenly at Doctor Russell 
whose eyes were upon the singer’s face. Did those 
eyes express too much? Did some occult power 
present to Edward Deveau a vision of this man 
shielding and loving the singer when he who was 
now her husband had “crossed the Border?” 

Again : 

“Then you’ll remember, you’ll remember me,” 

and the song ended ; but the pathos still lingered in 
Violet’s voice as she said : “What do you suppose 
Mr. Deveau calls that but his farewell!” 

Edward Deveau’s face bore evidence of a pain- 
ful mental struggle, and his voice faltered as he 
said: “You think it strange that I wish to hear 
that song as only my wife can sing it, when it 
takes such a hold upon a great, strong, bearish fel- 
low such as I am. Somehow, lately, I don’t feel 
just right; and it may be that the day is not far 
distant now, when each of you will ‘remember 
me’ !” 

“Ned, Ned, banish such thoughts!” exclaimed 
Doctor Russell. “We all have moments when 


3 2 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


the future seems very near to us ; but in the duties 
and the pleasures that encompass us, they are laid 
upon memory’s shelf and remain there, undis- 
turbed, perhaps for many years.” 

At ten o’clock, Juliet brought in a tray of ice 
cream so delicious, that, as Doctor Russell whis- 
pered to Elva, “It really melts in one’s mouth !” 

The evening dews had silvered the shrubbery 
and the grass, and the golden stars were twinkling 
in the clear, azure, July sky, when the new neigh- 
bors bade their friends goodnight, and started 
homeward; and not long afterward, the only 
sounds heard in the Deveau home were from the 
whip-poor-will that nightly sang beneath the west 
chamber window ; and from the katy-dids that kept 
up their incessant contradicting: — “Katy-did,” — 
“Katy-didn’t,” — “Katy-broke-the-bottle.” - — “She- 
did”, — “Katy-did,”— “Katy-didn’t” — “Yes-she 
did,” — “Katy-didn’t,” — and so on, with as much 
animation as was ever displayed at any of the tem- 
perance meetings for which Mapleton was famed. 


CHAPTER IV. 


MRS. PORTER'S PLEA. 

Aunt Molly was right. 

Something unprecedented in the Deveau home 
had occurred, — something so overpowering in its 
effect upon Violet that she had to exert all her will- 
power trying to banish it from her thoughts, lest 
her mind give way. Hitherto she had felt secure 
in the belief that should sorrow fall upon her, she 
had but to mention it to her husband, when he, in 
his strength and his love for her, would relieve 
her of all but its shadow. Yet she could not go to 
him now, in this most heart-breaking trial. 

Whatever the occurrence, neither husband nor 
wife allowed any third person to become aware of 
its existence. Its effect upon Edward Deveau, was 
as marked as upon Violet. He did not want her 
to be away from him an hour at a time ; while for 
the first time in her life, Violet avoided him. 

Late one afternoon after a very busy day, when 
she particularly needed quiet, perverse fate inter- 
vened. Juliet announced a caller, and as Violet 
came down from her room and entered the parlor, 
she was greeted with: 

‘Tm glad to see you at last! You must appre- 
ciate my taking time to come here when my every 
moment is so valuable. Not only am I occupied 
here, but across the ocean, where my heart and 
33 


34 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


soul go out to the benighted. At present, how- 
ever, my duty points toward the temperance work 
in our town, where really there are enough to la- 
bor without me, but they must have ‘Mrs. Porter’ 
here, and ‘Mrs. Porter’ there, till no committee is 
complete without ‘Mrs. Porter.’ I often wonder 
how the world will get along when Mrs. Porter is 
in heaven!” 

During a great part of this harangue, Mrs. Por- 
ter had been giving Violet’s delicate hand such a 
squeezing as nearly dislocated her fingers. 

“Always interested in good works, Mrs. Porter. 
Has not this been a fine day ? Lay off your wraps 
and have tea with us, and then we can converse bet- 
ter,” said Violet, whom hospitality bade entertain 
the bombastic creature who believed that the uni- 
verse centered in herself, and who drove more 
penitents from the fold of Christ, than ten ordin- 
ary Christians could persuade to enter it. 

Eagerly accepting her hostess’ invitation, Mrs. 
Porter continued: 

“The W. C. T. U. had a meeting at my house, 
and, of course, appointed me a committee of one, 
to call upon all who abominate the liquor curse, and 
obtain their views as to the best way to close the 
Haywood saloon. It is not safe for respectable 
women to pass there alone after dark. The drunk- 
en negroes, who lie around there, — poor, soulless 
sinners, — show how little the Haywoods care 
whose money they take. 

“There’s black Fred Strong, — his wife and her 
eight young children were helped by us all last win- 
ter; and as our reward, we have the prospect of 
again feeding them and two new twins in addi- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


35 


tion, the coming winter, while Fred passes his 
earnings over the bar, and so helps pay for the silk 
underwear that covers Mrs. Haywood’s guilty 
form. Cotton and wool is good enough for honest 
folks, I maintain. It’s true she is our soprano ; but 
she doesn’t need two-dollar hosiery to wear in the 
house of God, when we all know it comes from 
drunken niggers, if the plain truth is told. Now 
what do you advise?” 

It would have been as easy for Violet to have 
planned a campaign against Abdul Hamid, as to 
have suggested a mode of attack upon the pro- 
prietor of the only hotel in Mapleton. 

“Why, Mrs. Porter, I have never considered the 
subject; I do not go by there at night, and until 
now, I knew nothing about there being intoxicated 
people there. Isn’t there some mistake? Is your 
informant reliable?” 

“Unquestionably!” responded Mrs. Porter, in- 
dignantly. “I am my own informant ! There can 
be no mistake! And if you never pass there at 
night, your sisters do!” 

“My sisters ? I have no sisters !” exclaimed Vio- 
let, innocently, and in surprise. 

“Oh, how narrow ! My sisters and brothers are 
all creation !” asserted the magnanimous guest, 
with a wave of her powerful arms, as though to 
embrace a few of the members of her self-appro- 
priated family. “It is for all that I toil so inces- 
santly. You can judge how I labor, by Mr. Por- 
ter’s speech the other evening. He came in, tired 
and hungry as men always are. There was no 
supper ready, for I had just returned from a meet- 
ing of the Foreign Mission Board. He had to go 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


36 

to the bakery for bread, and when he returned and 
had the kitchen fire lighted, we found there was 
nothing in the house for him to cook for our sup- 
per. I was by that time dressing for a meeting of 
the Ladies’ Auxiliary, and could not stop to at- 
tend to a mere man's trivial wants. 

“John made the tea, and unearthed some canned 
mackerel and some jelly; and after we had eaten, 
he had the assurance to say: ‘You are a good wom- 
an, Eliza; but oh! I miss my wife!' 

“ ‘Why, you stupid man, I am almost always 
here at meal time,’ I said. ‘I know that,’ said he; 
‘and sometimes all you have prepared for me is a 
leg of missionary that I have roasted in my mind, 
instead of the delicious lamb such as you used to 
cook. And in place of the fine headcheese poor 
Mother used to send us, you substitute merely an 
allusion to a hogshead from which your cheerful 
W. C. T. U. comrades have emptied out the rum 
or whisky in some saloon. Men do not thrive on 
allusions, Eliza ; and hence sprang the question, ‘Is 
marriage a failure?’ ’ Think what a stab to my 
feelings ! 

“So you see, Mrs. Deveau, I have domestic trials 
to contend with, and they are extremely wearing.” 

Violet looked at her guest’s rock-like face, and 
concluded that it would require the lapping of 
kindly wave-thoughts for centuries, to wear it 
down to an expression that would be pleasing “in 
His Sight.” 

“You certainly toil without ceasing; but does it 
pay? Are you happy? Is your husband happy?” 
inquired Violet, now thoroughly aroused. 

“What is one man's comfort compared to the 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


37 


salvation of millions of souls? My husband is 
happy in the glory I reflect upon him ! Of course 
he is!” 

Violet was disgusted with the woman’s ego- 
tism, and tired of her harangue. “I do not believe 
I can help you, Mrs. Porter ; a person of your wide 
experience should not be hampered by any crude 
ideas of mine, had I any to offer.” 

“But that saloon must be closed !” 

“Why not ask your minister’s assistance?” 

“Because I do not believe in applying to a man 
for assistance, except financially.” 

“Yet in this instance it might be best; though I 
am not sure but that Mr. Haywood would reply 
that he is acting by consent of the majority of the 
people, for he has a license.” 

“Unfortunately, he has. And why? Simply be- 
cause men make the laws, and we women, intelli- 
gent women, are allowed no voice. Let a foreigner 
come here, an anarchist, even, and after a few 
years he is naturalized and allowed to vote; while 
we who were born on American soil, who have 
reared sons to become noble and to be true to 
American principles, must keep silent while we 
tremble for the safety of our country as we see 
aliens rush by us to the polls ! There they vote us 
down, simply because we were so unfortunate as 
to have been born daughters instead of sons ! Oh, 
the shame — the injustice of it! Why, under the 
laws, made by men , one drunken negro at election 
time is worth more than a thousand refined white 
women! That fact is the dirtiest, grossest insult 
that a man can offer his own mother, wife, and 
daughters ! Oh, my fellow women ! Arise in your 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


38 

purity and might, and trample upon those who, 
professing to love you better than life, thus ig- 
nobly oppress and insult you! Oh, for a MAN 
to come out from among those whom we by cour- 
tesy call MEN!” 

Then, with lightning rapidity, the speaker’s 
fierce expression changed to the pleasantest one 
she could command, as Mr. Deveau entered the 
room. 

“Ah, Mr. Deveau, how delighted I am to see 
you !” she vociferated, grasping her host’s hand al- 
most before he could extend it. 

“Really, Mrs. Porter, it does a man good to 
shake hands with you. It gives him such an appe- 
tite he could almost devour a live Hottentot!” 

Supper was announced, and in the pretty dining 
room, Mrs. Porter demonstrated that if her hand- 
shake were equal to a strong man’s, her appetite 
was no less so. Of course the great woman was 
disappointed in not receiving a promise of co- 
operation from Violet, in the battle she intended 
to fight against the Haywoods. Her mental com- 
ment, upon leaving the Deveau home, was : “Well, 
I secured a good meal, if nothing else. I wonder 
what John managed to scrape together!” 

Picture a large, country hotel set back several 
hundred feet from the road, with century-old wil- 
lows gracefully sweeping the velvety lawn; with 
maples and stately oaks reflected in the mirror-like 
river that flowed within a few hundred feet of the 
building; with immense beds of flowers nodding 
a welcome to each one who entered the grounds. 
That is “Home-at-Last,” the hotel kept by Mr. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


39 

Haywood whose bar furnished the flame that Mrs. 
Porter hoped would spread into a conflagration by 
which every anti-prohibitionist in town would be 
consumed. 

Mrs. Haywood, the proprietor’s wife, was a very 
attractive woman. Her black eyes were speaking- 
ly expressive; her nose was Grecian; her hair was 
as black as midnight, and her complexion like the 
wild rose. But her pretty mouth showed the 
woman, — selfish and unsympathetic. 

She had married a hotel keeper simply to avoid 
a home-life of monotony, and to have her desire 
for the gaiety that a village hotel furnishes, grati- 
fied. 

No reference to intemperance, which the good 
minister might make in his sermons in the church 
Mrs. Haywood attended, ever disconcerted the 
lady ; and if her husband were away from business 
the following day, her hand made and passed over 
the bar the punches for favored customers, — and 
many a glass of champagne did she drink at their 
expense. 

Consistent Christians did not encourage her in 
her desire to take part in church activities, be- 
cause of her mode of life, though none ven- 
tured to broach the subject to her until Mrs. Por- 
ter started a temperance war, which, though un- 
successful, was vigorously waged until the advent 
of a new pastor. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE PRAYER AMONG THE SCRUB-OAKS. 

Doctor Russell had decided to gratify the de- 
sire of his life and become a gentleman farmer, 
even though it would necessitate giving up his 
practice, upon which, fortunately, he was not de- 
pendent for a livelihood. 

Learning that the Tobias Miller farm was for 
sale, the doctor accepted Mr. Deveau’s offer to 
take him to inspect the property. It was on a love- 
ly afternoon, and the doctor, awaiting his host, 
gazed admiringly at the beautiful trees ornament- 
ing the place. 

Stirred by a gentle breeze, the few maples near 
the hawthorn hedge bowed gracefully to the 
half-grown locust tree that persistently endeavored 
to this year reach far enough to clasp them in his 
thorny arms, while they coquettishly eluded his 
touch. A little further along, were several Ken- 
tucky coffee trees whose lace-like foliage was in 
striking contrast to that of the neighboring tree, 
a broad-leaved catalpa reveling in his own beauty. 

Nothing, however beautiful to others, now ap- 
pealed to Edward Deveau, who, with eyes down- 
cast, was walking toward the carriage house. He 
was greatly changed of late, — some deep sorrow 
seemed to have taken full possession of him. He 
was increasingly tender toward his wife, who, 
40 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


4i 

nevertheless, was so unlike herself as to be coldly, 
studiedly polite and unresponsive. 

Mr. Deveau came driving from the carriage 
house, the horses prancing and champing at their 
bits, and sportively throwing flakes of snowy 
foam upon their glittering harness and shiny coats. 

Riding along the shady road, Doctor Russell 
removed his hat, wishing that the summer breeze 
might clear his brain of the suspicion of some 
domestic trouble in the home of his friend. 

Almost listlessly, Edward Deveau opened con- 
versation : “On the farm where we are going, is a 
sunken pathway, grass-grown now for more than 
a century, which many a moccasined foot has 
trod. Tradition says that in and around the 
Miller place, was an Indian settlement. The 
chief of the tribe died of a broken heart, on ac- 
count of the death of his beautiful daughter. Grief 
never drives an Indian insane, but his white 
brother,” — the sentence ended in a deep sigh. 

“That account will interest Dorothy, I know; 
but, Ned, pardon an old friend’s anxiety and de- 
sire to help you, and tell me what is troubling you. 
Is it some business difficulty, or what?” inquired 
Doctor Russell. 

“No, financially I am all right; but — well, Har- 
old, an old affair of years ago has come up in 
most hideous form, and if there is no respite soon, 
my mind must give way. I will brave it out as 
long as I can, though I shrink from myself as 
from the vilest hypocrite!” 

“I am deeply grieved, Ned,” said Doctor 
Russell, “to know that you are in such trouble. 
It is possible that you have been brooding too much 


42 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


and that your imagination has conjured up a mon- 
ster, which, in reality, is only a little, harmless 
toad, ready to spring from your path the in- 
stant you stamp your foot at it. Yet true it is, 
that our errors, if added to ever so little, will 
sometimes grow from trifles into huge boulders, 
that, unless we impede their progress, will cer- 
tainly roll and crush us.” 

The response to this was another sigh; a mo- 
ment’s silence, and then Edward Deveau said: 
“Sometimes I am cowardly in my fears, and wish 
that death would mow me down and so end all. 
My own future does not concern me as much as 
does the fear of my wife’s learning what I am striv- 
ing with might and main to conceal from her. As 
we drive slowly through this sandy stretch, I will 
tell you all : 

“Do you remember the advice you gave me 
about Anna Gray, and How I resented your en- 
tertaining a shadow of suspicion against my 
moral integrity? I did not realize my own weak- 
ness.” 

“Anna Gray!” exclaimed Doctor Russell, in as- 
tonishment. “Why, that was years ago! Surely 
nothing has occurred since you sowed your wild 
oats and settled down surrounded by all that a 
man holds most sacred !” 

Edward Deveau’s head lowered. His face 
paled, then flushed. His voice sounded husky, as, 
slowly raising his head, he said : “You refer to 
those I sowed before my marriage. With shame 
such as you cannot even imagine, I acknowledge 
that they were not the last. A later crop I now 
am reaping, — and the harvest is very great. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


43 

“I have tried to shake the woman off; — I have 
paid her her own price; but she now threatens that 
unless I will leave all for her, she will ruin me. 
How I loathe her ! Love my wife ? My God ! how 
I love her ! Her very purity I worship. And how 
do I show my love for her? As a devil! 

“There are times when I am so maddened by 
the fear of losing her, through this, that I become 
brutal. Then those lovely eyes, — you know how 
beautiful Violet’s eyes are, — look at me in such in- 
nocent appeal, I want to kneel at her feet and con- 
fess my crime. She would perhaps forgive me; 
but her heart would break in that forgiving. And 
our child! Great heaven! the disgrace I have 
brought upon her! 

“Pardonable, perhaps, were my transgressions 
before I married; but that I who boast of my 
strength of mind no less than of body, should 
have yielded in a weak moment, and thus blighted 
not only my own life, but the lives dearer than all 
else to me! 

“I have endeavored in every way to atone to my 
loving, trusting wife, and to God, for my sin. I 
joined the church, sent money to foreign mis- 
sions and helped the poor at home. I prayed night 
and morn, that God would wipe out my sin, — 
would tear out the soiled page in my life provided 
I kept the rest of the book unspotted. I believed 
He had granted my request, until a new tenant 
moved into a cottage in the next town, and that 
tenant was Anna Gray. 

“I evaded her as long as possible; but can you 
imagine my mental agony during that time? We 
finally met face to face in the station. She did 


44 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


not invite me to call upon her, but informed me 
that I must do so, as she had something to show 
me that would well repay my trouble. I, a strong 
man, suddenly became a despicable weakling; and 
fearing to delay obedience to her command, I 
went. 

“What do you suppose she showed me? A 
child! a boy! the image of myself, as I saw from 
an old daguerreotype I had given heir when we 
were children. 

“She began to twine her arms around my neck, 
as she said, — and her voice was like the hiss of a 
serpent: ‘He is yours and mine!’ 

“Why did I not kill her as she stood there in 
her coarse voluptuousness! I caught her wrists 
and flung her roughly aside. Her hot flesh seemed 
to sear my palms, as her base allurements fifteen 
years ago had temporarily seared my manhood. 

“ ‘Woman,’ I said, ‘how dare you lie like that?’ 

“ ‘Take care,’ she answered, tauntingly ; ‘you 
have another child ; cannot our boy become a com- 
panion for her? Though younger, he is in every 
way fitted.’ 

“I was dumb. Had God deserted me? Must 
I leave all a man holds dear and become a wan- 
derer? 

“That night I went home dazed; and when my 
wife came so lovingly to minister to me, bathed 
my forehead to allay the fever that was consum- 
ing me, and then begged to know the cause of my 
suffering, with an oath , / — I struck her!” 

Harold Russell instinctively moved away from 
his companion whom he now believed to be de- 
mented. Surely no sane man would perpetrate 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


45 


and acknowledge such an act of brutality as Ed- 
ward Deveau ascribed to himself. The doctor 
looked sharply, and then pityingly at him. 

“Oh, I know that I am unfit for a decent man 
to touch,” continued the narrator. “Yes, I struck 
the woman who would even then have given her 
life for me. I was insane, I tell you! Struck my 
wife! Think of it! while all the time my anguish 
was caused by the fear of losing her love ! 

“Not one word of remonstrance did she utter. 
Two or three times she tried to speak, but no 
sound came from her white lips. She will never 
know how • I longed to take her in my arms, to 
press her close to the heart beating for her, only ; — 
the devil himself restrained me. 

“My anguish was the worst that a man could 
suffer. To live for years a life as free from sin 
as a man can do, and then be suddenly con- 
fronted by an old sin that raised its head and pro- 
truded its fangs until they entered and poisoned 
my life, was maddening, I tell you; — maddening ! 

“Every line of the picture is painted with fire, 
and indelibly stamped upon my brain. With hor- 
ror, I see Elva as she came to the door. Speech 
came to Violet then, and I remember her saying: 
‘Go to your room, darling; Papa is not able to re- 
ceive your goodnight kiss. Mama will soon be 
with you.' 

“My pure, lovely daughter kissed her hand to 
me and left. Then my wife said, in a voice that 
seemed to come from miles way: ‘When you are 
yourself again, Mr. Deveau , you may tell me so; 
but never, I command you, make any reference to 
nor attempt to offer any excuse for the deed you 


46 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


have done tonight. If you do, as surely as I trust 
my God, will I give my life into His Hands and 
never again look upon your face this side of eter- 
nity.' 

“My gentle Violet showing such force of char- 
acter, — she was superb! divine! and — I — I had 
cursed and struck her! 

“She seemed to fade from me then, and I had 
lost the power of speech. I tried to call her, — 
reached out my arms to her, — but she was not 
there. She slept, or staid, for I do not believe that 
sleep came to her relief, with Elva that night. I 
was a madman. My brain refused to think, except 
to conjure up the most horrible, morbid things." 

There was a moment’s pause, after which Doc- 
tor Russell spoke : “Better put this from your mind 
at present, Ned. I myself cannot as yet fully grasp 
it. Do you realize all that you are saying?" 

“Perfectly well! Now tell me, Harold Russell, 
what could have produced in that child so striking 
a resemblance to me, — a likeness so strong that 
even Violet would remark it?" 

The question was not immediately answered, for 
Harold Russell was too deeply amazed at his 
friend’s confession. Edward Deveau, the man he 
had loved almost as a brother, he do these things? 
Untrue to the lovely wife who had held his child 
to her breast, and who, perhaps even while her 
faithless husband was sinning, was reverently lis- 
tening to the lips of their child as they lovingly 
framed the petition, “God bless Papa"! 

Then the doctor’s mind reverted to the question 
asked by the man beside him, and he proceeded to 
reply. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


47 

“The woman may have cared for you with more 
seriousness than creatures of her stamp usually 
possess; or, having the picture of you when you 
were a child, she may have spent a large portion 
of her time before the child’s birth, gazing intently 
at the picture, thereby producing the effect she had 
determined upon. But while I confess that I am 
astounded by what you have told me, still I am not 
one to desert a friend in trouble. We both realize 
the necessity for immediate action. Now for a 
plan to aid you! 

“Could anything induce the woman to move 
away? I will purchase a small residence, north, 
west, or south, and deed it to her if she will go 
out of your life forever.” 

“Harold Russell, no man ever had a truer 
friend than you are; but you don’t know that 
creature. Money? A million would not tempt 
her. She wants me! If openly defied, she will 
disgrace me. Fool! Fool! with such a wife as 
I have, how could I have stopped to listen to the 
flattery of a base woman! 

“She freed me from all obligation to her after 
the few days we spent together, — and I paid her 
well for her company, — and now she fastens her 
fangs into my life, to draw me from my home and 
all who love me.” 

The lines hung loosely in the speaker’s hand, 
and Doctor Russell wondered why the spirited 
horses did not take advantage of the slackened 
reins ; but the handsome animals knew whose hand 
held their guiding strings, and they would no more 
abuse his trust in them than they would refuse 
their oats because opportunity offered. 


48 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


After another silence, Doctor Russell asked : “Is 
there any good at all, that you know of, in the 
woman? Would advancement for her boy ap- 
pease her? Mothers are tender on that score, and 
most of them would make any sacrifice for their 
children. 

“Suppose you were to have the boy educated, — I 
will attend to it all; could she then be induced to 
renounce all claim upon you, and cease from fur- 
ther annoying you ? I would have my attorney so 
word the document she would have to sign, that 
no one into whose hands it might come in later 
years, would know whom she had released." 

“I fear no earthly power can make her release 
or abandon what she once starts in pursuit of. O, 
for a chance to re-live those hours! How differ- 
ently would they be passed! I almost curse those 
days I spent away from my pure, trusting Violet 
who believed that I was detained from home by 
important business, and who never questioned me 
when I returned, so firm was her faith in me, and 
so thankful was she to know that I was with her 
again. And I call myself a man! 

“Is there no escape from this retribution ? Other 
men continue in wrong-doing for years and are 
not detected ; while I, for the sins of a few hours, 
must be ruined for life, and my wife and child 
disgraced. I must either become a wanderer, or — 
God knows! 

“Does that creature believe for one instant that 
I will go to her when the exposure comes? I 
would as soon embrace a boa-constrictor. I have 
lived, ever since that experience so dearly bought, 
as good a life as a man can lead. I have taken an 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


49 


active part in the church ; I have obeyed the Golden 
Rule, and helped all who needed my assistance. I 
have loved my wife, — I fear I loved her almost to 
idolatry; and oh, my God! I struck her!” 

The pallor that had gradually overspread Ed- 
ward Deveau’s ruddy countenance, startled his 
companion, who said: “Surely Mrs. Deveau has 
forgiven you that , — wives forgive so much, even 
though they cannot forget. They love to forgive, 
seemingly. 

“And now, Ned, you surely have told me all. 
For your own sake, do not permit your mind to 
revert to the subject if you can help it. I will help 
you, — I will save you, if friendship can do it. Con- 
tinue in your accustomed way,” — 

“What, praying God to forgive me as I forgive 
others?” Edward Deveau interrupted hastily. 
“Stand before His people where for years I be- 
lieved I stood with my sins washed away or I 
should not have been there; continue in that way? 
I would be the basest creature in the universe! 
Never until I believed the forgiveness I craved and 
had begged for had been granted, did I make a 
profession of religion.” 

“You know, Edward,” — Doctor Russell’s tones 
were low, and he spoke deliberately, — “that religion 
as you understand it, is not my forte. I am a man 
of the world. The Golden Rule embraces all that 
I ever seriously consider. Allow me to suggest 
that you probably were forgiven for that offense 
for which you asked pardon, and that this trouble 
is punishment for a different disobedience of God’s 
law. Or. your feet may be tending toward the 
breaking of some other command, and He desires 


50 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


to turn you aside into the right path again. Noth- 
ing more than your present mental anguish may 
come of it all. But, my friend, can your religion 
give you no comfort in time of trouble? If not, 
what does it amount to?” 

What does it amount to! The pallor was gone 
now, and Edward Deveau’s face flushed as he 
felt his friend’s inquiry burrowing away in his 
brain until it secured an abiding place there. 
Finally he asked : “Harold Russell, do you not de- 
spise me ? I loathe myself !” 

Quick came the reply: “No! no! no! man; you 
are a mere recruit in an immense army of men of 
great hearts and minds. How vast the number of 
brave, loyal examples of true manhood we see and 
read of, who have at some time been tempted and 
have fallen! It was their rise after their fall, — 
their inexorable resistance against further yielding, 
which made them great; which taught them that 
to conquer their greatest enemy, SELF, was more 
ennobling than to win renown upon the battle-field. 

“And I predict that from this conflict you will 
rise noble, fearless and grand; your home remain 
in its sanctity, with your innocent wife still ever 
loving and trusting you. Ask your God to guide 
and protect you ; and I’ll attend to Anna Gray !” 

Just ahead was the cedar grove that marked one 
corner of Uncle Toby Miller’s farm, and there 
was the little, old man himself, with axe in hand, 
trimming a tree whose branches overhung the 
footpath, and thinking audibly as usual. 

“Them fly-’way women with tall feathers in 
their bunnits haster crook their long backs ter keep 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


51 

these ere limbs from scratchin’ em ; an’ I don’t per- 
pose ter have my b’longin’s annoyin’ nobuddy. 
Poor old Sukey! She never wore no sech top- 
knots. There hain’t no more Sukeys on this 
airth; an’ ’cause she was so much sensibler than 
the rest of her sects, is why the Marster wanted 
her up Yunder. 

“Oh lor, oh lor! An’ sech a toothsome cook as 
she was, too ! How upon airth I’m ter manage ter 
cook fer the harvesters nex’ hayin’ time, beats me. 
I’m dead used up doin’ it larst week. But I’d best 
put off worryin’ till the time comes. Mebbe the 
old farm’ll be sold afore then; an’ mebbe my old 
bones ’ll be a-restin’ ’long sider hern, an’ I won’t 
need no cookin’ done.” 

His task now completed, the old man shouldered 
his axe, and, turning as he heard the wagon ap- 
proaching, saw Mr. Deveau and Doctor Russell. 

The team was stopped; Uncle Toby stood 
squinting and blinking as the sun shone into his 
poor, faded eyes; and Mr. Deveau informed him 
that he had brought a friend to look at the farm, 
with a view of purchasing. 

A brown, wrinkled hand was extended, and 
cordially clasped in the gloved one of Doctor Rus- 
sell; but the proffered seat betweeen the two visi- 
tors in the carriage was declined, and Uncle Toby 
trudged along behind. 

Driving in at the gateway, they passed the big 
oak woods on the left hand; the fields of golden 
wheat, all stacked, the rye lot, and the clover field, 
all on the right. Down the hill, the road winding 
to make the descent less steep, they finally came to 
level ground ; and here, through the huge branches 


52 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


of century-old chestnut trees, Harold Russell ob- 
tained a glimpse of the glistening Mapleton river, 
gliding along merrily, bearing an occasional ripple 
upon its bosom, eager to meet the larger water of 
the Sound which would bear it out to the ocean. 

After tying the team beneath one of the chest- 
nut trees whose green-white blossoms had each 
year carpeted the ground beneath, the gentlemen 
accompanied Uncle Toby on to the house which 
all his life had been his home. 

Standing on the little porch to the front en- 
trance, and looking toward the river, they saw 
several white seagulls dive down into the blue 
water, and each bring up a fish and dart away 
with it. As the tide was flowing out, there came 
the invigorating odor of seaweed. 

They entered the house. “Yer see the place is 
in good repair,” said the proud owner who began 
fluttering around, opening shutters and doors, and 
never dreaming that a new-comer would deem it 
necessary to make any improvement whatever in 
the house. “The winder lights is all in. I broke 
one, accidental, larst winter, but I got a new one 
an’ puttied it in myself this spring. The size is 
six by eight, — I tell yer this in case yer wife 
breaks one — an’ they cost ten cents apiece. They’s 
nigh onter thirty on ’em in each winder. Sukey 
useter count ’em whilst she cleaned ’em; it ’mused 
her, she said, poor Sukey did. 

“So yer see they’s plenty light. Then they’s 
two pantries, ’sides the cupboard I made ter keep 
dishes in when yer don’t need ’em. 

“We got all improvemunts, yer see. We make 
our own lightin’, too. You thought them ere 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


53 


bushes we parssed top of the hill was full of dried 
huckleberries; but they was bayberry bushes, an’ 
them berries we make inter can’le grease, an’ that’s 
how we make our own lights. Ef on’y they was a 
mill here, we wouldn’t never hafter go off the place 
fer nuthin’. Ev’ry veg’table, fruit, grain, eggs, 
milk, fuel, meat, an’ fish, is raised right here, ter 
say nuthin’ of raisin’ our own feathers an’ wool, 
an’ our own hides fer leather; an’ — yes, sir , — even 
our own graveyard! 

“Yes, gentlemen, my father an’ hisn afore him 
fer ginerations back, lies a-sleepin’ deep down at 
the foot of them cedars a-top of that ere hill; an’ 
no man buys this farm ’thout ’greein’ in writiri , 
ter let ’em lay peaceful there till Jedgmunt Day. 

“Larst winter, poor Sukey, — my wife, sir, was 
hauled up there an’ laid down ter sleep sider the 
rest; an’ when the trumput calls fer Uncle Toby, 
he’ll hafter quit plowin’ an’ sowin’ an’ reapin’, fold 
his poor old fists, an’ go lay down ’long sider her. 
It may seem ter you, sir, like’s ef I was a-sellin’ 
corpses, ter make a man buy that spot ; but, sir, the 
dead up on that ere hill shill not be disturbed ef I 
kin pervent it, till the Great Father tells ’em ter 
rise!” 

After inspecting the large out-buildings still 
stored with last year’s grain and hay, they went 
to the summit of a high hill that overlooked land 
and water for thirty miles. Doctor Russell de- 
clared that the view alone was worth a large part 
of the sale price ; and the result was that before he 
left, he had the refusal of the property which with- 
in a month became his own. 

Returning to the Deveau home, the gentlemen 


54 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


found supper awaiting them. Baking cream bis- 
cuits had given a delicate pink tinge to Violet’s 
cheeks and she looked lovelier than ever that eve- 
ning. Doctor Russell scanned every look, anal- 
yzed every tone she gave her husband, but could 
not detect the slightest trace of the sorrow at her 
heart. Surely she was not concealing it so superb- 
ly merely because a guest was present; this frail, 
lovely woman must have a will of iron; her self- 
control was remarkable! Her manner amazed 
even her husband who would gladly have attrib- 
uted her unchanged demeanor to her having for- 
gotten his act of cruelty; but he knew that could 
not be. What wife could forget, — how few could 
ever forgive it! 

How completely she had ignored any reference 
to the occurrence, when he had shamefacedly 
broached the subject! Were it any other woman, 
her conduct might imply that she contemplated re- 
venge. She mystified him, and he worshiped her 
still more, as her latent immense strength of will 
asserted itself. 

Mr. Deveau insisted upon taking the doctor 
home in the carriage that evening; and during the 
ride, the latter reverted to the subject that was 
overwhelming his friend. 

“I advised you, Ned, to banish entirely all 
thought of this affair. Pardon me if I introduce 
the subject. I have thought of a plan which may 
be feasible. You say that Anna Gray is a woman 
of striking beauty?” 

“Of a coarse order, yes; decidedly so.” 

“Of course, thrown among men, I meet them of 
all degrees of morality, from the truly good to the 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


55 

almost totally depraved. Money glosses over the 
conduct of the latter; and men seldom inquire into 
each other’s morals in rating their business quali- 
ties or their financial standing. I will tell you 
frankly, that I am frequently made the confidant 
of men whose wives believe them to be the acme of 
marital perfection, but who are veritable disciples 
of Solomon on a scale proportionate to their means. 

“Suppose” — Doctor Russell hesitated; should 
friendship claim the sacrifice of a man’s self-ap- 
proval? Yet here were involved an innocent wife 
and child! 

He would take the responsibility and accept his 
punishment which he knew would surely follow 
if he deserved it, and make a proposition which, 
under any other circumstances, he would despise 
a man for making. 

“Suppose, Ned, that Anna Gray should meet 
the approval of one of these admirers of animal 
beauty, and an entanglement ensued; would she 
not then, amid the surroundings in which such a 
man could place her, forget you ? Though it seems 
ignoble in me to make so base a suggestion, pray 
believe me when I say that I have considered it 
well, and that it is only to save you that I thus for- 
feit my own self-respect. Were the woman not 
already debased, I would forfeit my life before I 
would be instrumental in her downfall; and for 
no one upon earth would I do this, except you, 
poor Ned!” 

A ray of hope shone upon Edward Deveau’s 
face. 

“You are indeed truer than steel, and no man 
ever had as great a friend as I have in you. I re- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


56 

gret that there is no way of escape except by adopt- 
ing what you propose. Yet I dare not broach such 
a subject to the woman; I, a man whose strength 
is the boast of the county, whose reputation is un- 
excelled, — /, to tremble at the threat of a wanton! 
To what a level have I sunk! If exposure comes, 
it will kill Violet, — and I will be her murderer! 

“Will men never learn that retribution hangs 
like a sword, ever ready to fall and cleave the 
heart of him who breaks the vow he made to his 
trusting wife? Never, while the race exists! 

“Were I sure that Violet and Elva would never 
know of my guilt, rather than endure my present 
torture, I would gladly be stripped naked and re- 
ceive the blows of the knout, until, bleeding, I fall, 
never again to rise. 

“May God in mercy forgive me, and bless my 
poor wife. But why do I plead? The God in 
Whom I trusted and Whom I served the best I 
could for ten years, has deserted me!” 

“If your faith be not entirely dead, why not 
appeal to Him now?” 

“ ’Twould be in vain! He has abandoned me! 
There is no place for me on earth nor in hell! I 
am accursed! — I’ll ” 

“Never mind that now,” interrupted Doctor 
Russell, laying his hand firmly upon his compan- 
ion’s knee. “You are too greatly excited to talk 
rationally, and you certainly magnify the trouble. 
This will all come right if my efforts can make it. 

“And now promise me that you will make peace 
with your wife, — continue to do right, and by the 
God to Whom you pray, I swear that if mortal 
jnan can do it, I will within reasonable time bring 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


S7 

to you Anna Gray’s guaranteed pledge never again 
to molest you.” 

A firm hand-clasp followed this; but no word 
came from the man for whose sake Harold Russell 
had pledged himself to perform an act which 
would, in his declining years if not now, cause the 
blush of shame to mantle his brow. 

Leaving Doctor Russell, Edward Deveau drove 
slowly. He wanted to review all his past; call 
to mind God’s promises of pardon to the penitent; 
and recall the many answers to prayers that the 
Almighty had granted him. Yet none of those 
prayers had been more fervent than his recent peti- 
tions, to which the Infinite had apparently turned a 
deaf ear. Had God cast him off as worthless? 
How could he bear Violet’s scorn! Violet, his 
wife, that pure, white-souled woman, would never 
again pillow her head upon his breast after she 
had learned that a wanton’s had reposed there ! He 
would make one more appeal to the Just Judge; 
his faith was not entirely gone. 

Turning the horses a little to the right, he drove 
into the underbrush and scrub-oaks that swished 
and battered against the glossy carriage-wheels, 
and tied his span to a pine tree. Then he went 
back to the road, looked east and west to assure 
himself that no one was approaching; returned to 
where his horses were, parted the thick under- 
growth as well as he could, and knelt down behind 
the carriage. 

With voice broken by sobs, he prayed : “Oh, Fa- 
ther in heaven, cleanse and purify this breast as 
Thou alone canst. My sin was very great; my 
repentance is greater. Reading my heart, Thou 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


58 

knowest I crave pardon, not to avert any punish- 
ment, but to save them, — my innocent wife and 
child. Spare them, oh, Father, and punish me an 
hundred fold. ‘Ask in faith and thou shalt re- 
ceive/ is Thy promise; and, dear Lord, I humbly 
ask and fully believe that I now shall receive par- 
don, in the name of Christ, our Redeemer. Amen.” 

Along that lonely, country road, with massive 
oak trees interlacing above him, rode, that night, 
as contrite a sinner as Long Island ever contained. 
Faith had been renewed; and how fast the sorrow 
was leaving his heart ! In a month or so he could 
once more be happy, with a record almost pure, 
save for. that one blot; and even that, God would in 
time erase. 

In years to come, away off in the dim, distant 
future, when he would be an old, old man, and Vio- 
let would be a dear old lady in cap and spectacles, 
he would take an opportunity some day when she 
sat beside him with her bible in her lap, to tell her 
all , — his sin and his anguish. And surely she would 
forgive him then, for with their feet almost upon 
the Border, both would have outlived all the pas- 
sions that weight life down. 

But that blow must be atoned for ! 

He smiled as he pictured his cherished wife 
clasping her arms around his neck and returning 
his embrace, with a kiss of full forgiveness. His 
heart was light now, and he felt sure of her con- 
sent when he stopped the team beside the carriage 
steps and called: 

“Violet, come, dear; get your hat and take a 
little ride with me. It is not very late. It will do 
you good ; and — I need you, Vi.” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


59 

The wife hesitated until the daughter’s pleading 
softened her heart toward her husband, whom she 
knew had suffered ; more, perhaps, than she had. 

“Please go with Papa, Mama; wait just an in- 
stant and I’ll bring you your pretty hat with the 
forget-me-nots on it. See, the moon is shining out 
just splendid since you decided to go!” 

As Violet took her seat beside her husband, the 
moon, shining through the trees, cast approving 
shadows that danced merrily beneath the horses’ 
feet. And when in that part of the road where tall 
trees refused to allow a single ray of moonlight 
ever to penetrate, Edward Deveau turned and 
facing his wife, said : 

“Violet, my wife, I can no longer endure your 
assumed obliviousness of what occurred that night. 
Did I hurt you, dearest? I wish my hand had 
withered ere it touched you then. Can you ever 
forgive me?” 

“You did nothing, Edward,” replied Violet. 
“Some evil spirit had possession of you for awhile. 
My husband did not commit the deed which I can- 
not bring myself to mention. I make every effort 
to keep cheerful, and have nearly succeeded in driv- 
ing that nightmare from my mind. Oblige me by 
dropping all reference to it, that I may forget it 
the sooner.” 

“But, sweetheart, I must explain. It was not in 
anger toward you, — I loved you at that moment as 
truly as when I held your hand in mine at the altar, 
and as greatly as I do now. I was harassed by 
sudden news of a mean plot against me by one I 
had not believed capable of an act so contemptible. 
It is thwarted now. Never before did such violent 


6o 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


passion control me. I have asked forgiveness of 
my Maker and He has granted it. Will my wife 
withhold hers? Forgive me, my dear one, — now, 
— this minute , — and I will pray God every day of 
my life to especially bless you for this one conces- 
sion.” 

Violet did not speak, and again her husband 
pleaded : “Do not make me despise myself still 
more; forgive me; if not for my own unworthy 
sake, for the sake of our child. Speak, Violet l” 

Tears were in the lovely blue eyes that now 
looked at the pitiable man by her side as Violet 
nestled one hand within his; their eyes met, then 
their lips. No word was spoken. No kiss of lov- 
ers was ever truer than the one then given and re- 
turned with all the ardor that tried and proven af- 
fection could press into it. Gently her husband 
drew her hand to his heart and pressed it there. 
His love seemed greater than ever before. 

Then came a confession from the wronged one : 
“It has been so difficult to act a part; did I make 
you believe I was happy the past four weeks when 
really I was the most miserable creature? The 
night I left you and went with Elva, I could not 
close my eyes. Anger was there, I admit ; but oh, 
the sorrow ! the heart-burning ! I had half forgot- 
ten it, I hope, by today; and now you can forget 
the other half for me. 

“That is one reason why I love you so, Edward ; 
because you bear my burdens; you are so strong; 
and you know I admire strength of character be- 
yond all else. 

“Now that your trouble is averted, let us never 
again refer to any circumstance connected with it; 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


61 


and do let it be a warning to you to let politics 
alone ! It makes enemies of friends, wounds hearts 
we love the dearest, and sometimes ruins homes/* 

“Thank fortune, she is far from the true cause,” 
thought Edward Deveau, who really had taken a 
more than usually active part in politics the past 
Spring. 

How happy Violet was on that homeward drive! 
Edward was her own again, and she was his! 
Where was there a happier spot than their little 
home! Where a truer, dearer husband than her 
own! 

Ah, Violet, true woman! since your beautiful 
dream of implicit faith and trust brings you new 
life, continue in it ; it is your wifely privilege. Do 
not waken; — that would be death! 


CHAPTER VI. 


UNCLE TOBY JOINS AUNT SUKEY. 

Aunt Molly thought she would save a few 
rods’ walk by climbing over the fence by the barn, 
even if it were Sunday morning. She was on the 
fourth rail and was about to step over the fifth, 
when she saw Doctor Russell as well as Mr. De- 
veau looking at her. She hesitated, till Mr. Deveau 
called out : “Come right along, Aunt Molly ! Neith- 
er the doctor nor I could do that stunt half as 
gracefully as you can. That’s right. There’s not 
a woman in the county can equal you in agility.” 

That Aunt Molly had a piece of important news 
to impart was written along each wrinkle of her 
kindly face. Nothing daunted by the doctor’s pres- 
ence, as soon as Violet joined them, she launched 
out : 

“I knowed you’d be a-dyin’ ter hear what I come 
ter tell, so I jes’ done up the dishes, brushed up the 
h’arth with the turkey wing, cleaned Polly Ade- 
laide’s cage an’ give her a hunk of sugar an’ her 
fresh water an’ picked up my ev’ry-day sunbunnit 
an’ run over.” 

Aunt Molly’s audience was listening attentively; 
and scarcely was her breathing apparatus replen- 
ished, ere she again started with her narrative : 

“Fridy arfternoon as I sot by my front door, 
I warn’t readin’ ner sewin’ ner nuthin’, but on’y 
62 


DADDY’S WIDOW 63 

jes’ a-thinkin’ ; an’ thinkses I, ‘I’ll run down an’ see 
how Uncle Toby is gittin’ on sence Aunt Sukey 
died;’ I hadn’t been nigh there in a dog’s age. I 
knowed I could git back ’fore dark ef I went right 
smart an’ cut crost lots ef Turner’s Aldernary bull 
warn’t loose. Yer know I never waits fer no sec- 
ond thoughts ; an’ ’fore I could wink, hardly, there 
I was at the bars by Widder Bisford’s parstur’. I 
kep’ on till I got ter Turner’s, an’ there stood that 
horrid sarpint of a bull he keeps a-puppose so’s 
folks carn’t cross his lot. It saves more’n a 
mile ter go that way ; but I carn’t make 
folks over agin, an’ some on ’em is too 
mean to of been made even the fust time. I had 
my ole drab umberrel in under one arm, an’ I says, 
says I, ‘Mr. Bull, this ’ere umberrel an’ me is bound 
fer Uncle Toby’s, an’ we’ve both decided ter cross 
this lot ter git there. So ef yer don’t want an eye 
poked out, keep yer distance; we’ll keep ourn.’ 

“Same time I warn’t sech a ninny as ter keep 
fur away from the fence. I scooted along pretty 
lively, nigh ’bout two rod from the fence, holdin’ 
my head sideways like a amiable duck, but keepin’ 
one eye a-hind me. Pretty soon I see Mr. Bull 
bend down his head, so I slunk up ter the fence 
pretty swift fer a woman of my years, sixty-nine 
come nex’ Aprul. 

“I truly b’lieve I hyptermized that critter, fer 
he never moved an eye-winker ; an’ in less’n a hour 
from the minute I sot in my door, I was ter Uncle 
Toby’s. 

“Now ef I’m interruptin’ anybuddy, all they’ve 
got ter do is ter speak out in meetin’, an’ I’ll stop.” 

“Not at all, Aunt Molly,” said Violet. “You 


6 4 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


must have reached the place shortly after Doctor 
Russell and Mr. Deveau left it.” 

“Like’s not. Ahha, now I see who Uncle Toby 
meant by the ‘Yorker’! Well, there he sot, poor , 
ole Uncle Toby did, outside the back door, onter 
the seat Sukey useter set an’ churn on. She was 
alius as straight as a buzzum-board, but there he 
sot all crumpled up an’ droopy, with his head in his 
hands,' a-thinkin’ an’ a-thinkin’. 

“ ‘Hello, Uncle Toby,’ says I ; ‘settin’ there in 
maiden medication, as the poets says,’ says I, ter 
cheer him up. He looked up, so sad, I was scared- 
er of him than I was of Turner’s bull; an’ his 
voice sounded awful tombstun-like, an’ he says : 

“ ‘The place is gone, — the ole house is sold ; the 
house where me an’ Sukey lived an’ married an’ 
died in ; an’ I must go off ter the poorhouse now !’ 

“‘This place sold f Who to?’ says I. 

“‘To a Yorker,’ says he; ‘er it’s good as sold. 
He’s a-comin’ back fer it nex’ month ; an’ then I’ve 
no home but the grave.’ 

“ ‘Bah !’ says I, ‘don’t yer Yorker pay nuthin’ 
fer all these hunderds of big acres, an’ woods, an’ 
cows, an’ springs, an’ thrashin’ merchines, an’ 
plows an’ horses an’ ev’rything an’ pigs?’ 

“ ‘Yes, oh, yes ; but money won’t bring back my 
poor wife ter say how she likes the bargain !’ 

“ ‘But think of all the money yer’ll git. Mebbe 
the Yorker’ll git yer ter board with him. ’Twill 
be fun ter watch him,’ says I. Now Doctor Rus- 
sell, don’t let this make no hard feelin’s twixt me 
an* you, ’cause I didn’ know as ’twas you he meant; 
an’ I said these things ter cheer up a poor, heart- 
sore ole neighbor that’s ’most ready ter step up on 


DADDY’S WIDOW 65 

the Other Shore, an’ that I’ve knowed more years 
than I’ve got fingers an’ toes. 

“So as I was a-sayin’, I says ter him, says I: 
‘ ’Twill be fun ter watch him. Them Yorkers 
thinks they know ev’rything; but when yer pin 
’em down to it, they don’t know a weasel from a 
turkle dove; ner a settin’ hen from a woodchuck.’ 
An’ then I told him a story Daddy useter tell, ’bout 
a Yorker what come ter board with his mother, an’ 
thought that milk run outer cows’ horns when yer 
tipped the critter up. However, not a smile could 
I git outer the ole man. I rested a few minutes on 
the stool under the red apple-tree, an’ then I bid 
him cheer up an’ goodbye. I see I couldn’t do no 
good by stayin’; an’ yer’d never b’lieve how re- 
lieved he looked when I started. 

“I must of been a-dreamin’ on my way home, fer 
I swan I was nuther drunk ner crazy; but I was 
mixed somehow, ’cause I turned ter the right stid- 
der left, an’ ’fore I knowed it, I was bumpin’ my 
nose ’ginst a limb up inter the Miller fam’ly bury- 
in’ ground. Poor Sukey’s grave was all ruffled up 
on top, an’ the flowers he alius keeps there fresh 
was jes’ flung in a heap like, at the head part. I 
looked closter, an’ I see there was letters carved 
crooked in the dirt, jes’ fresh done, too, an’ this 
is what they said : — T,o,b,y, T oby, — i,s, is — c,o,m,- 
i,n, comm’ ; — Toby is comin’ ! 

“Then I says ter myself, I don’t need ter hear no 
sermon read outer a book nex’ Sundy, fer here’s 
one that strikes home, an’ makes me feel more like 
bein’ a Christian than anything all the ministers 
from here ter Ballyhack kin say. Jes’ think of it, 
Mr. Deveau!” (did Aunt Molly purposely address 


66 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


her remark to him?) “ter find an ole, ole man so 
true to his own wife that he writes ter her when 
she’s dead (an’ she couldn’t of read writin’ very 
well ef she hadn’t of been), an’ is sure she is waitin’ 
fer him up on the Other Shore! It shows that 
there’s still some true men on this ’arth. They’re 
scarcer than hen’s teeth, I’ll admit; an’ yer might 
hafter rake all over the dry land with a fine comb 
fer a hull day, an’ not git one; but God has scat- 
tered a few here an’ there, an’ He knows where ter 
find ’em. 

“Poor ole Unde Toby! His heart is in the 
grave, an’ the rest part of him don’t ’mount ter 
much ; but — Sukey loved him, an’ he loved Sukey. 

“Now I’d jest take my hat off ter any preacher, 
black or white, that could tell me why couldn’t the 
good Lord of left Aunt Sukey here ter keep her 
poor ole pardner comp’ny ter the end of their trip, 
— ’tain’t very fur off; — an’ they was both sech 
harmless old critters, a-leadin’ the peacefulest of 
lives ! 

“Kin anybuddy tell me why couldn’t Death of 
parssed by that little home of their’n, an’ cut inter 
one where he was wanted by one side of the house 
or t’other? Ah, the why of it hain’t give to us 
mortals ter know ! 

“So it’s my belief, Doctor Russell, that ef yer 
don ! t wind up the bargain right quick, there won’t 
be no Uncle Toby ter deal with.” 

“It is too bad that the old gentleman should 
grieve so,” said Doctor Russell; “and I doubt if 
he would live any longer if he should retain the 
place. One thing is certain ; — if I become its own* 


DADDY’S WIDOW 67 

er, the old man shall remain there all the rest of his 
days.” 

With Harold Russell’s check pinned inside his 
shirt bosom, several times this evening Uncle 
Toby had wiped his eyes on his old coat-sleeve, the 
last one Sukey had patched ; and as he milked the 
cows and bedded the horses, he bade each a silent 
farewell. 

Although the chickens had gone to roost an hour 
ago, the black Spanish rooster that should have 
been sleeping beside his family upon the perch, 
persisted in sadly crowing. 

The ducks had quacked sorrowfully as they 
slowly waddled to their pen. It seemed to Uncle 
Toby that every living thing on the farm knew 
that he was no longer their owner ; and as he leaned 
over the side of the hog-pen and the black pig came 
nearer so as to have its back scratched, the old 
man’s tears fell glistening upon its bristles. 

After he had gone to his room and blown out 
his candle, the whip-poor-will came and sang 
plaintively beneath his window. Slowly the old 
man sank upon his knees, beside his bed, and sob- 
bing pitifully, asked the Father’s blessing not only 
for himself, but upon Harold Russell. 

Was that evening prayer finished? God only 
knows. 

On their way home from the post office the next 
morning, some children stopped at the house, and 
after looking into the kitchen and seeing no one, 
they went to the foot of the stairs and called : “Un- 
cle Toby, here is a letter for you ! Shall we bring 


68 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


Hearing no response, they went up to his bed- 
room, and seeing his attitude, reverently awaited 
his reply. It never came ; for the farewells of the 
night before, though unspoken, had broken Uncle 
Toby’s heart; and the blessing he had asked for 
came in a summons to his Father’s House, where 
there are no farewells and no tears. 


CHAPTER VII. 


TWO PICTURES. 

Wondering what business the handsome bach- 
elor doctor, whom she had occasionally seen driv- 
ing- by, could have with her, Anna Gray awaited 
Harold Russell in her home at the time mentioned 
in his note requesting an interview. 

The gorgeous colorings in the Oriental room 
were not more brilliant than were the sparkling 
eyes, crimson lips, and health-flushed cheeks of its 
occupant, arrayed in a robe of yellow silk and black 
lace, the flowing sleeves of which displayed the 
perfect contour of her firm, white arms. 

Miss Gray's beauty was of the type that usually 
flashes upon and fascinates one, but does not ap- 
peal. However, upon the gentleman ju9t enter- 
ing the room, it had no more effect than looking at 
a new Holstein would have produced; and he was 
enough a man of the world to unhesitatingly say: 
“I have, I believe, the honor of addressing Miss 
Gray," to a woman who had buried her own. 

Strange to say, the woman was charmed with 
the repellent courtesy of her visitor's manner ; but 
after a few remarks, when he told her the object 
of his call, she became furious. 

“You, to dare dictate terms to me, and call it 
'appealing to my mother-heart!' What do you 
know of the longing and craving of a nature like 
69 


70 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


mine? Your good women, who never were tempt' 
ed, each have an object upon whom to concentrate 
their weak affections. With a mighty torrent of 
love surging through my heart, am I to renounce 
the one being in the universe, whose caresses I 
crave, and to accept in their stead the gold of one 
loathsome to me? I would sooner trudge bare- 
foot through the streets all day, picking rags from 
the barrels, and know that when darkness fell I 
could go back to my hovel and hear my loved 
one’s voice, — receive his caress, — than be arrayed 
in satin and jewels, knowing I must never call him 
my own! 

“You believe that women of my stamp have no 
reverence for home ! God ! man, to us there is no 
aspiration higher; and no goal we so absolutely 
despair of reaching, as the beautiful one of wife- 
hood! 

“You see only the tinsel; the real gold we keep 
secure in our bosoms. While the blood courses 
slowly and calmly through the veins of your pure 
women, it rushes boiling hot through ours. The 
Creator made us so. He knows why we fall! And 
He it is Who implants in our breasts the one, true, 
pure longing; and oh , that longing! Give up Ed- 
ward Deveauf Not while my heart beats! Tell 
him that!” 

“You have a child, Miss Gray,” — Harold Rus- 
sell spoke deliberately, and gazed steadily into the 
black eyes of the excited beauty whose own gaze 
did not waver; — (< what is his name?” 

“According to the laws you men nobly make to 
suit yourselves, his name is Edward Watson Gray : 


DADDY’S WIDOW 71 

but you know as well as I do, that it should be 
Edward Watson Deveciu” 

“And you say he was born in New York, in 

— > I believe?” The interrogator expected noth- 
ing less than a denial by the woman of having made 
any such statement, and he was therefore delight- 
ed that she failed to weigh his words before reply- 
ing: 

“Yes; in the house where his father had pre- 
viously visited me; where we exchanged promises 
of the endurance of our affection to outlast this 
life, and go with us into the life beyond.” 

The earnestness with which Miss Gray’s state- 
ment was given, did not deter Doctor Russell from 
continuing : “I concede that it is sad for the child, 
who will feel his disgrace more deeply as the years 
pass. Had I a daughter, I should advise her, un- 
der similar circumstances, as I now advise you, to 
take her child and live abroad. And if you, Miss 
Gray, desire to adopt this course, the wherewithal 
shall be regularly remitted to you, provided you ac- 
cept the situation as it is ; and realizing what your 
past has been, and not knowing how soon you may 
be summoned to face your Maker, you resolve to 
appear before Him untrammeled by the knowledge 
of having ruined a home, killed a trusting wife, and 
blighted the life of an innocent young girl.” 

Anna Gray leaned over and placed her elbow 
upon a small table beside her. Her head, heavy 
with the tumultuous rushing of thoughts between 
her heart and her brain, she now rests upon her 
hand. 

She knows she must give a final decision be- 
tween wealth, adulation, — everything gratifying 


72 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


to her pride, — and the remote, shadowy chance of 
winning the love of the man who has spurned her. 
Upon delicately balanced, imaginary scales, she 
places her two pictures of the future, and gazes 
first upon the alluring one of her proud, beautiful 
self, courted and flattered amid surroundings of 
magnificence. 

She closes her eyes a moment as though to bet- 
ter retain the picture; but, when she opens them, 
the look of gratified pleasure vanishes, and a 
moan that bespeaks anguish more intense than a 
torrent of tears could indicate, accompanies an ex- 
pression of pathetic tenderness, as her glance rests 
steadily upon the picture on the other scale, — the 
picture of what human art can never portray, — the 
longing, the loving, in a woman's heart! 

For a moment, so perfect is the balance, one lit- 
tle hair from a baby’s silken curl would tip the 
scale upon which it fell. The scales waver; — one 
lowers. 

Doctor Russell, encouraged by the softened ex- 
pression now upon Anna Gray’s countenance, steps 
nearer to her and resumes his pleading : 

“I now appeal to you to renounce your insane 
desire to lure Edward Deveau from his family; 
and if, as you believe, yoii truly love him, prove it 
by acting for his good !” 

One beautiful, shapely, white hand now shields 
the woman’s face; her handsome head is bowed 
low. 

Doctor Russell reaches out his hand, and with 
almost fatherly tenderness, smoothes her soft, 
shining hair, as he reverently concludes his appeal : 

“Do this, dear child, and I will pray our Father 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


73 


in heaven to let your sacrifice blot out all the dark 
past in your life. In His Name I ask , — will you 
make the sacrifice?” 

The lowering scale has descended its limit, and 
on the instant, Anna Gray springs from her seat, 
and under the brilliant, glittering chandelier, she 
raises her right hand and emphatically replies: 

“And in His Name I answer — NO!” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A SYREN IN THE SANCTUARY. 

Were there never but one good minister on 
earth, that one surely was the Reverend Alpheus 
Morton, an aged clergyman who responded as 
kindly to the appellation “Poppy,” which the un- 
godly sometimes greeted him with, as to the term 
“Brother,” by which most of his flock addressed 
him. 

One of the good man’s gifts to the Mapleton 
church, was a bell, clear, sweet, and powerful, 
whose tones, in full accord with the heart-throbs of 
the donor, breathed of love, peace and purity. 

As the bell’s melodious tones were ringing out 
on the summer air one Sabbath evening, Violet 
Deveau, joyously serene, walked up the aisle, just 
behind her husband, in that little white edifice with 
stained glass memorial windows; with its twelve- 
stop organ whose tones were as sweet as the voice 
of Ettie Jaynes now singing with the Choir In- 
visible, — with the motto “God is Love,” on the 
wall back of the pulpit from which many a re- 
vivalist, long since gone where he has proved the 
error of his statements, when preaching eternal 
damnation, had urged his hearers to believe! 

The text that particular evening was: “Father, 
forgive them; they know not what they do.” 

Every word of the speaker had penetrated the 
heart, mind, and soul of Edward Deveau. No 
74 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


75 

other text could have been as applicable to his 
case. 

He was wondering now, if, when two are 
jointly guilty, forgiveness fervently pleaded for 
and granted to one, would, unsolicited, be given to 
the other. God’s forgiveness was so precious to 
him; how about forgiveness to Anna Gray? 

But with that he had nothing to do; her peni- 
tence or her lack of it, was entirely between her- 
self and her Maker. 

Then he wished that he had told Doctor Rus- 
sell that under no condition must the man whom 
he would be instrumental in bringing into her life, 
be one with a trusting wife, or a wife of any sort; 
for such a shadow as had but recently been lifted 
from his own home, should never, with his con- 
nivance, fall upon an unsuspecting wife. 

The sermon ended ; a hymn was sung, and then 
the pastor asked Brother Deveau to lead in 
prayer. 

Never before had a similar request been so earn- 
estly responded to as now, when, upon his knees, 
within the altar rail, his hands clasped in supplica- 
tion, his face raised toward heaven, Edward De- 
veau offered his last prayer in God’s house! 

The petition came from the heart but recently 
relieved of its fullness of sorrow, and ended thus : 
“And now, kind, loving Father of the just and of 
the unjust ; of those who obey Thee and of the way- 
ward; pity Thine erring sons and daughters here 
tonight. Chasten us with Thy rod until we bend 
and kiss it. Then, without fear, when our last 
good-night is said, may we sleep, to awaken at the 
Pearly Gate, where, dear Father, we may enter 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


76 

and receive Thy welcoming smile. May we who 
grasp hands extended here tonight, again clasp 
hands that beautiful morning when we meet upon 
the Shining Shore. This we ask in Christ’s name. 
Amen.” 

Those who heard that prayer never forgot it. It 
appealed to and found response in each bosom. At 
its commencement, one who did not promptly 
bow her head, afterward declared that she had 
seen a halo surrounding the supplicant’s head. 

And even after the service, old Squire Watkins, 
over whose now-silvered head the snows of eighty 
winters had passed, leaned upon his cane by the 
church steps and said: “Edward Deveau’s lips 
were sanctified tonight. His words flowed with 
penetrating force. Thank God for such a man in 
our midst; may he be spared to you long after I 
am called Home!” 

When Edward Deveau arose from his knees 
after making his prayer, those near him could see 
tears coursing down the cheeks of the man, who 
as far as they could believe, was without sin among 
them. 

Violet instinctively placed her hand within his 
when he had resumed his seat by her side. She 
was so proud of her husband ! — hers and hers only! 

Another hymn, and then the benediction was 
pronounced. Then neighbors bowed and smiled; 
and in leaving, all seemed to want to stop at the 
door, to await and again shake hands with Edward 
Deveau. 

Who is that beautiful woman, a stranger, stand- 
ing where the bright light from the center chan- 
delier falls upon her face and figure? Her full 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


77 

bosom, covered only with heavy black lace, per- 
ceptibly rises and falls. The magnificent jet 
trimming of her gown glitters and shimmers as 
though it had life. She gazes with undisguised 
admiration upon the face of the man whom all 
appear to honor even more than they do the min- 
ister, who, tonight, is a young theological student 
sent as a supply (since Brother Morton's de- 
cease,) until the arrival of the new pastor. Violet 
is just behind her husband, who is nearly opposite 
the pew wherein awaits the stranger. 

A hand, large, and sparkling with jewels, is 
extended toward him, and Edward Deveau takes 
it in his own before he sees its owner, as people 
are still chatting with him and his wife. The un- 
expected pressure from that hand, impels him to 
turn his gaze suddenly to its owner’s face; and he 
looks into the large, black eyes of Anna Gray! 

“ ‘May we again clasp hands that beautiful 
morning when we meet upon the Shining Shore !' " 

As in a dream, Edward Deveau heard his own 
words of a few minutes before, and for an instant 
the room was dark to him. A pressure from the 
jewel-decked fingers recalled him to the present. 

“My God, slay me here in Thy house, but spare 
my wife!” surged from his heart, to die upon his 
lips. 

Several who were watching him, saw his lips 
move; but no sound came from them, though it 
seemed to the man himself as if his voice had rung 
out as loudly as a church-bell. 

The nobility of his plea saved him. Had he 
weakly begged for his own salvation from the 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


78 

syren, what a scene there might have been in that 
sanctuary that Sabbath evening! 

Without another word, without her look of fond 
recognition having been caught by others, Anna 
Gray passed alone from the building, to where her 
maid awaited her at the entrance. 

“Who was she?” “Wasn’t she magnificent!” 
“What elegant diamonds!” “She perfumed the 
church!” “I never saw her so close before,” came 
from the women. The men uttered not a syllable, 
but they exchanged meaning glances. Their eyes 
followed even the smallest ruffle upon the edge of 
her skirt, until she had passed from sight; and 
then reluctantly, and some of them sheepishly, 
they looked at their respective wives. 

Big, bulky Sister Harrison, three feet four 
around the waist, commanded meek, weak, peaked 
little Brother Harrison: “Attend to me, sir, and 
open that door!” but no other helpmeet ventured 
a syllable. 

Violet had not observed the effect that Anna 
Gray’s appearance had produced upon her hus- 
band; and although she saw her extend her hand 
to him, it was only what everyone else did. 

How tender he was on that homeward drive! 
How she loved him, her true, noble husband! 

Elva was sleeping soundly when they returned. 
Violet tip-toed to the bed and softly kissed the 
sleeping girl who was still a child to the mother. 
Mothers have to do that, — they cannot wait for 
waking hours; and childhood is so soon gone! 

It was a moonlight night in midsummer, and the 
windows were wide open. After retiring, Violet 
was restless, and at last, like a tired child, she said 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


79 

to her husband: “Let me lay my head upon your 
shoulder, dear, and then I can sleep.” 

With unusual tenderness Edward Deveau re- 
plied: “That is its proper resting-place, my darl- 
ing; now are you happy? Pleasant dreams, dear- 
est, and a bright tomorrow for you.” 

Soon the wife was sleeping as sweetly as was 
her own young daughter. But no reprieve came 
to the one who pillowed her head that night. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A GIFT FROM SISTER ANN. THE DENTIST'S VICTIMS. 

There was seldom an afternoon that from two 
to a half dozen urchins did not stop by Aunt 
Molly’s gate to listen to Polly Adelaide singing 
in the little white cottage that nestled so pictur- 
esquely at the foot of the green hill. 

It was all the same to Polly, whether she had 
an audience or not, as she sang: “Polly, take the 
kittle off, We’ll drink whis-key!” 

As abruptly as she had commenced the first 
song, she began a second : 

“Lord, dismiss us with Thy blessing,” and then 
rendered the next line to suit herself: “Fill our 
hearts with clay and mud!” 

Aunt Molly did not approve of the substitution. 

“What upun airth makes you sech a contrary 
beast, Polly? You won’t sing anything right, 
lately. Who taught you sech stuff, you wicked 
bird, you?*’ 

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the parrot, again sing- 
ing: “Polly, put the kittle on; Here comes — he, 
he!” 

“You’re right this trip, you wretched animal; I 
know his step. I b’lieve you know more’n most 
folks does,” said Polly’s mistress. 

Old as Time, is the inclination to primp; ’tis 
Nature teaches us the art. Up went Aunt Molly’s 
wrinkled, brown hands, to feel if the silvered locks 
80 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


81 


—oh, how thin they were getting! — lay smoothly 
in place; a touch was given to the wide, flat col- 
lar, a tug at the white cuffs, and then she hastened 
to the door, opened it, and admitted the portly 
form that now frequently crossed her doorsill. 

“Well, Uncle Billy; got ’round agin, eh! Le’s 
go inter the settin’ room where it’s cheerfuller. 
How be yer ternight ?” was Aunt Molly’s greeting. 

“O, I’m feelin’ real han’some, thankee,” replied 
the guest, as he drew his red handkerchief several 
times around the crown of his high, beaver hat, ere 
laying it on the table. 

As the evenings now were a little chilly, logs 
were kept in the “settin’-room” fire-place, with a 
bunch of kindlings in front, ready for lighting. As 
Aunt Molly knelt nimbly down and applied a 
match to the wood which soon blazed and crackled 
merrily, Uncle Billy attempted a compliment: 

“You beat my time, Aunt Molly, the way you 
bob up an’ down as spry as a girl. You’d be fine ter 
conduc’ a prayin’ band. Some women not harf as 
old as you be, gits their bones a-snappin’ an’ a- 
creakin’ ev’ry time they move; but yourn seems 
as meller as — as — a — ” 

Taking away any poetical comparison that may 
have been floating in her admirer’s mind, waiting 
for his unaccommodating tongue to express, Aunt 
Molly supplied a simile: “As meller as a spiled 
mush-melon, I presume yer wanted ter erlude ter 
me as. Why, how ole fer gracious sakes do yer 
s’pose I be? Ole as Mrs. Methusalum?” 

“O, no; jest the right oldness ter be nice an’ in- 
terestin’,” replied gallant Uncle Billy. “You’ll 
never be what is known as old!” 


82 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Not ef the court knows itself! I’ve seen too 
much of ole folks bein’ cast inter shadders an’ cor- 
ners; whilst them they’ve cared fer an’ brung up, 
like’s not, sot in sunshine an’ rocked ’emselves. 
Wrinkles may come, but let ’em come ! Gray hairs 
is hon’erble. Teeth may go: an’ ef new ones 
don’t sprout, yer kin buy ’em by the peck, assorted 
sizes. Cobwebs may ’pear crost my sight, but 
I’ve learnt ter keep my eyes peeled. 

“No, sirree! Ole Age an’ me had a failin’ out 
the day I seen Julia Hall’s poor ole blind grand- 
mother toted off ter the poorhouse, an’ Julia out 
ridin’ nex’ day in a bran’ new horse an’ wagon ! 

“So now you jest ’member what I say ; an’ ef me 
an’ you ever do git jined tergether in the holy 
bounds of mat’ermony, an’ some day you was ter 
hear old Gabr’el a-tootin’ soft an’ seductive-like on 
his horn an’ callin’ ‘Time’s up, Aunt Molly,’ don’t 
never let nobuddy say he wanted me ’cause I got 
old r 

“He shouldn’t have yer ef he called till fig was 
tongue-tied an’ black in the face! I’d run meet 
him down by the medder lot an’ tell him yer warn’t 
ter home, — an’ by Joe! I’d swear it, too!” 

“So would I,” declared Aunt Molly, laughing. 

“ ‘In the swe-e-et by-and-bye, We shill meet on 
that beautiful Shore’,” sang Polly, in her quaver- 
ing, unmelodious voice. 

“Hear that critter ; an’ she hain’t said ‘damn’ in 
a dog’s age. But she’s still contrary. O, I meant 
ter arsk yer ; — when Ann got back, did yer tell her 
’bout — ’bout me an’ you? What did she say? 
Kinder took her by s’prise, I reckon. Was her 


DADDY’S WIDOW 83 

ladyship overcome? How did the program suit 
her?” inquired Aunt Molly. . 

“Quite well, I take it. Course she sorter sniffed 
an’ snorted at fust, an’ murmured somethin’ ’bout 
‘no fool like an ole iool,’ — meanin’ me, of course,” 

“Certainly! you , of course,” interrupted Aunt 
Molly. 

“An’ I told her I b’lieved I was free, white, an’ 
twenty-one, an’ quinsequontly old ’nough ter 
marry a dozen times, ef I liked,” — 

“Not in York state,” Aunt Molly interposed, as 
she gave her intended a penetrating yet amused 
look that for a moment disconcerted him. He re- 
sumed : 

“An’ I told her ef I married an’ took a wife, 
she’d be left alone, an’ some old codger would be 
sure ter grab her up, ef on’y fer her money. She 
sorter snickered at that, an’ said what a nice house- 
keeper you be, an’ that p’r’aps I couldn’t of 
choosen better. O, here ! I most forgot ! She sent 
this fer you, an’ I was ter be sure an’ see it opened 
car’ful, ’cause it’s somethin’ been in the fam’ly nigh 
onter a century! I dunno what the old scratch it 
is, but Ann says you have the best right to it now. 
Most a century! Gosh! It must be a reg’lar heir- 
loon!” 

Aunt Molly, evidently pleased as well as sur- 
prised that the penurious Ann Hawkins should 
send her anything, especially as there never had 
been any love between them, smiled as she accepted 
the small package. She turned it over and around 
several times. “I’ll open it, how-some-ever, afore 
I send a ‘thankee-ma’am’ ter my sister-in-law- 
elected,” she said. 


8 4 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


Carefully each wrapping was undone, and in the 
last lay a piece of linen on which was written in 
quaint lettering, “Baby william’s hare,” and en- 
closing what resembled a piece of tow, tied with a 
faded blue string. 

Aunt Molly looked disgusted, and for an in- 
stant suspected the innocent Uncle Billy of being a 
party to the affair. 

“Guess she means fer me ter hand it ter you ter 
wear ter the weddin’, ef there ever is one, glued 
on fer a top-knot, er a goatee ; — I don’t wear sech 
adornmunts myself, an’ I — don’t — think — I’ll 
— keep it! 

“So you take it back an’ tell Ann Hawkins that 
as she has had it in her persession most a Jmnderd 
years, I couldn’t be so cruel as ter rob her of it now 
she’s so old an’ childish ! 9 Tarnal old maids ! How 
mean they kin be when they set out!” exclaimed 
Aunt Molly, almost biting her words apart. 

“You’re right, there; I’ve lived with one on ’em, 
an’ I know the hull tribe. - Now listen ! I’ve got a 
bully plan ter settle her hash. I’ll come here early 
next Mondy an’ we won’t say nuthin’ ter nobuddy, 
but jes'* ride ter Punkses Holler an’ git the parson 
there ter yoke us up tergether fer the rest of our 
nat’ral life, more or less as the case may be. It’s 
so easy done, an’ ’t won’t cost you a cent. Le’s 
do it!” coaxed Uncle Billy. 

But Aunt Molly was not to be cajoled into so 
serious an undertaking. “No siree! Not in no sech 
rush as that, jest ter spite a old maid! My black 
silk haint made up yit, an’ my new steps-ter-the- 
poorhouse quilt haint even got the waddin’ bought, 
nuther. It’s easy, as you say, ter git yoked; but 


DADDY’S WIDOW 85 

it’s hard ter git out of harnuss ef the furrers proves 
too rough ter travel in side by side. 

“No; it’s nice, as you say, fer you ter come here 
an’ fer us ter set an’ chat tergether ; but as fer bein’ 
linked up fer all time, — better put that off fer a 
while. There’s time ’nough yit, fer me anyhow; 
an’ I don’t perpose .ter run my head inter a noose 
till I’m sure I won’t choke. You see, I’ve lived a 
lone widder so long now, I might not stan’ it well 
ter be bossed over ; an’ a man that don’t boss, some, 
is one of them henpeck sort, — harf idjut. I’d stan’ 
a little bossin’, ’cause it goes in with the rest of the 
onpleasant part of married duty; but I’d jump the 
traces quicker’n scat, ef you overstepped the line.” 

Uncle Billy slowly nodded his head. “Well,” he 
responded reflectively: “I’ve heerd tell of ‘Cod- 
dle lectures’, but I never had one give free gratis 
fer my benefit afore. You’ll never be hung fer con- 
cealin yer ’pinions;” — here the speaker softened 
his tones, — “an’ pretty nigh right they be too, 
Molly; an’ I’m ready ter run my head inter the 
noose with yer any day yer set.” 

“Let — me — see!” said Aunt Molly, looking af 
the ceiling as though upon it were printed instruc- 
tions for her particular case. Their perusal com- 
pleted, she looked squarely into Uncle Billy’s eyes. 

“I will go ter Punkses Holler with yer, — but 
not ter the minister’s, till arfter we’ve been ter the 
dentist’s there. He puts ice on the gooms an’ 
freezes ’em ; an’ when they’re fruz stiff, yer carn’t 
feel ’em ; an’ then he hauls yer teeth out whilst you 
wait. You oughter git yourn out, too; an’ I’d like 
ter be there an’ see the performance ; then I’d know 
how much back-bone there is to yer.” 


86 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Lordy! Yer don’t ’spect he’ll haul a feller’s 
teeth out through his back, do yer? ’Twouldn’t 
do, yer know, in perlite serciety.” 

“You know what I mean, Uncle Billy; I want 
ter see how much grit yer’ve got!” 

At this the old man laughed heartily, while his 
hostess eagerly waited to learn what occasioned 
such mirth. 

“Wuss an’ wuss! ha! ha! ha! She wants ter 
see my poor ole gizzard !” and again Uncle Billy’s 
hearty laugh rang so loudly through the cottage, 
Aunt Molly’s voice now chiming in, that the vibra- 
tions nearly shook the burrs from the big chestnut 
tree out by the gate. 

When both had gotten over their glee, Aunt 
Molly said: “Ef you will set in the dentist chair, 
an’ not whimper ner holler ner kick whilst he tugs 
at yer mouth, I’ll marry yer then an’ there!” 

“Then we’d best pick up a minister on the road 
an’ tote him along, fer ’taint no ways likely as the 
dentist keeps ’em in stock. An’ ^posin’ he had one, 
they wouldn’t nuther one on ’em have a bible ner 
even the marriage questions there! 

“Yes, my ole grinders has hurt me fer some 
time. I carn’t chew corn on the cob, ner bite inter 
apples, ner crack nuts with ’em like I useter could 
when I was a boy. So I guess I kin afford ter 
sing ’fare-thee-well’ to ’em ef I git you in place of 
’em ; an’ I vum ! ef I won’t be the fust ole chap that 
ever bought a wife, with six ole teeth!” 

Again Aunt Molly’s laugh supplemented Uncle 
Billy’s which he terminated in a comical “Whoo !” 

“Then it’s settled, is it, that we’ll go Mondy, 


DADDY’S WIDOW Sy 

arfter I git my washin’ done?” asked the prospec- 
tive bride. 

“Sure!” replied the delighted Uncle Billy. ‘Til 
step inter John Hunter’s termorrer, on my way 
home from school-meeetin’ — nobuddy never got 
cheated at John’s — an’ buy me a suit of weddin’ 
clothes ter wear.” 

“Better put off decoratin’ yerself till yer see ef 
yer do any squawkin’ ; besides, nobuddy wears nice 
clothes ter the dentist’s, — yer’d drool all down the 
front of ’em, an’ spile ’em, sure.” 

“O, well! I sposed you’d go all decked out in 
weddin’ dresses an’ them things, an’ wouldn’t 
want a bridegroom with darned trousers on !” 

“Mebbe there won’t be no weddin’ that day. I’m 
thinkin’ we’ll both be teethin’ so hard, we’ll feel 
more like dyin’, than marryin’.” 

“ Tolly, put the kittle on; We’ll all take tea!’ ” 
came a voice from the gilded cage in the next 
room. 

“So we will, Polly Adelaide; I’m glad you re- 
minded me, fer it’s a-gittin’ late an’ Uncle Billy 
must be a-scurryin’ home so’s ter git his beauty- 
sleep,” said Aunt Molly, who thereupon left her 
companion while she went to prepare two cups of 
tea for herself and her guest. When she returned 
with a tray holding some slices of cake and two 
cups of steaming-hot, fragrant tea, drew up a lit- 
tle table in front of Uncle Billy and then sat oppo- 
site him, he remarked that it was nice to court 
sensibly as they did, “stidder lookin’ flat an’ 
spoony like most courters does,” he added. 

Finally he took up his long-napped, old-fash- 
ioned, beaver tile, circled his elbow over the crown 


88 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


several times, and then putting it on his head, stood 
with his back to the fire, thinking. Suddenly he 
stepped toward his intended; and she at the same 
instant advanced toward him. 

“Good-night, Aunt Molly,” was uttered sheep- 
ishly. 

“Good-night, Uncle Billy,” came in more de- 
cided tones. 

Then something sounded as though a man were 
chirruping to his horse, when his lips had met a 
barrier which gave the sound a heavier tone, and 
one to which the beaver hat was not accustomed; 
and that perhaps explains why it leaped from the 
man’s bald head, to the middle of the floor, where 
it rolled over upon its side in a convulsion of 
laughter. 

Monday was a lovely drying day, and before 
eleven o’clock, the few pieces of snowy linen and 
of gingham, that comprised Aunt Molly’s weekly 
wash, were brought in from the line ; every part of 
her house was sweet and clean ; a basket of tempt- 
ing edibles was placed in the buggy, and then she 
herself stepped lightly in and sat down beside 
Uncle Billy. After tucking the carriage-spread 
carefully around her, she suddenly threw it off, 
and, standing up in the starting vehicle, looked 
over the side, at the roll of gray fur curled up on 
the mat in front of the house door, and called out : 
“Goodbye, Tommy ; behave yerself till I git back !” 

Uncle Billy thought his companion’s last move 
entirely uncalled for. “When you git sot down 
fer good, I’ll pull the top of the buggy up so’s the 


DADDY’S WIDOW 89 

hot sun carn’t shine so hot onter yer an’ fade yer 
clothes,” he said. 

“Lorgeons me! I guess these old duds is as 
used ter sun as I be. I on’y dressed ter undergo a 
surgical operation ter my mouth.” 

“What a wonderful objec’ that old sun is! ' Old 
Sal’ is what the smart Alecks call him. Now jes’ 
sposin’ I was the sun an’ had ter travel all the hun- 
derd miles he does; an’ sposin’ you was the moon, 
a-racin’ fer dear life ’cross country try in’ ter ketch 
me ! Wouldn’t that be dreatful ? An’ then 
wouldn’t the Mapleton gossips an’ Matt Robertson 
have somethin’ ter jabber ’bout ! 

“But I’d nither be jes’ plain me an’ you, would- 
n’t you? a-ridin’ ’hind Dandy here, on our ca’m, 
peaceful way ter the parson, ter ’scape any more 
years of ‘single cussedness’ as the bible says.” 

“Lorgeons, man ! how you do rattle terday ! The 
bible don’t say no sech thing; unless it’s in the 
back of the book, er some of them places I 
skipped.” 

When they had gone half the distance, they let 
Dandy rest in the shade of a big walnut tree while 
they ate their luncheon. Seven miles more of 
woodland and scattered farms, brought them to 
Punk’s Hollow. Dandy was put up at a livery 
stable; and soon afterward, the queer little couple, 
bent upon an errand which would decide whether 
upon the homeward trip they would travel as two 
or as one, were in the dentist’s waiting room. 

That important personage entered. His “Good 
day, sir! Good-day, madam! What may I have 
the pleasure of doing for you or your husband?” 
amused Uncle Billy. Aunt Molly replied: “He 


90 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


wants some teeth pulled ; and ef yer don't most kill 
him, yer kin tackle mine." 

“Not me fust!" exclaimed Uncle Billy, begin- 
ning to wave the white feather at the first men- 
tion of tooth-pulling. 

“Ladies first, invariably," responded Dr. Jen- 
nings, well knowing that he would have a worse 
time with a man than with a woman, and that the 
former's antics might dissuade the latter, as was 
frequently the case when they came together. 

“I 'gree with yer, doc; ‘ladies fust' is my mot- 
ter," said Uncle Billy, a trifle boldly now that he 
had an ally in the dentist. 

“Not in this percession," announced the bride- 
elect. 

“Yer see, Mr. Dentist, we have a sort of a bet 
on this," — 

“An' I hold the stakes," interrupted Aunt Molly. 

“I hope you will win, madam," said the agree- 
able referee. 

“I will, an' don't yer fergit it ! I intend ter !" 

“So do I," said Uncle Billy, grinning and shrug- 
ging his broad shoulders. 

“Just step this way, madam, and I assure you 
the deed will be done before you are aware of it, 
and no pain will be experienced," asserted Dr. 
Jennings. 

With an appealing glance at her intended, soon 
replaced by a look of grim determination, and with 
her head held as high as her diminutive stature 
would permit, Aunt Molly sailed by the man who 
was ready to forfeit ( except in a dentist’s chair) 
his life for her, and followed the dentist into the 
operating room. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


9i 

She sat in the big, green chair; and standing 
close beside her, Dr. Jennings said: 

“Lean your head back, so. Now do not make 
a particle of noise if you fancy that it hurts you 
a little bit. Some ladies are much more sensitive 
to pain than others are; though in my long ex- 
perience I have found them twice as brave as men ; 
and I knew the minute I looked into your spark- 
ling eyes, that you were one of the bravest I ever 
met. ,, 

Aunt Molly detested flatterers, so in no very 
dulcet tone, she said : “That may all sound pretty 
to them as swallers sech chaff; but I on’y come 
here ter git my teeth ’stracted. I’ll tie my eyes up 
with this ’ere han’kercher I brung ’long a-puppose. 
Ef I say ‘stop! don’t pay no ’tention, but jest say, 
‘What makes yer holler when they're all out long 
ago?' whilst you keep on a-pullin’ fer dear 
life. Say it good an’ loud, so’t he’ll hear; fer I 
mean he shill set in this cheer an’ git hisn out, ef — 
ef — ef the heavens falls. Now I’m blinded, — pull 
away !” 

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven! ‘All 
good people go to heaven,’ as my little boy used 
to say. There madam ! you haven’t a tooth left in 
your mouth ! Splendidly you behaved ! You sur- 
prised me! Shall I have the pleasure of making 
you a set of teeth?” 

“Not terday, — thank yer; — I b’lieve I’m a-git- 
tin’— 

“O, you’re all right ; swallow this,” and the den- 
tist held a glass of water to Aunt Molly’s lips. She 
drank some, and soon the color returned to her 
face, and she attempted to rise from the chair. 


92 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Just sit quietly one moment; no hurry,” ad- 
vised Dr. Jennings. “You may tell your friends 
that Dr. Jennings of Punk’s Hollow, says that in 
all his immense practice, he never had a braver 
patient than yourself!” 

Fanning her, and palavering an accompaniment, 
the man who “lived from hand to mouth,” soon 
brought the little woman to herself again. But oh, 
how she hated him! The mere mention of the 
name Jennings, ever afterward called up rebel- 
lious feelings. He had guaranteed not to hurt 
much, and then had nearly killed her! 

Thank heaven, she had not scared Uncle Billy, 
as not a sound had escaped her. Now ’twas his 
turn, and he should get into that chair if she and 
the dentist had to carry him there. A nice state 
she was in, to get married that afternoon, as she 
would have to do, according to her agreement, if 
Uncle Billy did not holla; but she was as certain 
that he would, as though he were now testing his 
lungs. She tried hard to conceal her faintness, as 
she rejoined him in the reception room. 

“Well, Aunt Molly, I don’t see as yer mouth is 
slunk in any more’n it was afore yer went in there 
with yer dentist. How’s it feel? Didn’t it hurt 
a single bit?” 

“Wouldn’t you of been likely to of heerd from 
me ef it had?” asked poor Aunt Molly, evasively. 
“Now git in there yerself, an’ see how delightful it 
is ter jes’ lay back in a soft cheer, an’ ’fore yer 
kin say ‘scat,’ ter hear that man warble, ‘All out’ ! 
Ef I’d of had seven jaws full, I’d of had him pull 
the hull lot terday, an’ you’d not heerd a whim- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


93 

per — then she added, softly : “under the cuccum- 
stances!” 

“All ready, sir! I’ve an engagement in ten 
minutes, and so must ask you to come promptly. 
My time is golden,” announced Dr. Jennings. 

“Yours truly,” responded Uncle Billy, impor- 
tantly; but he never-the-less waited long enough 
to say to Aunt Molly: “I’ll arsk him whilst I’m 
in there with him alone, how fur is the nearest par- 
son. Now I’m off like a lamb ter the slaughter.” 

Aunt Molly merely nodded, — her mouth hurt 
her so ; and as Uncle Billy disappeared, she said to 
herself : “He’ll need a parson, — six of ’em, mebbe, 
afore he ’scapes from that butcher’s clutches. Still, 
ef he should come out of that ’ere den without a 
squeal, an’ face the music an’ his pinchers like a 
hero in battle, he’ll be fit ter take Daddy’s place; 
fer I’ll know I kin depend on him in sorrer an’ in 
joy. 

“But sure as he snivels, an’ carries on too high, 
he’ll hafter find some other fool stidder me, who is 
willin’ ter hang to him through life, — one who’ll 
take up with any old stick so’s ter call it a husbun’ ; 
one who’ll cling to him like a hop vine to a 
weepin’ wilier. A studdy oak is the on’y tree fer 
me !” 

By the time Uncle Billy reached the extracting 
room, he was as white as its walls. His chin per- 
sisted in dropping like a dead man’s. The floor 
began to tip; and even the dentist’s assistance in 
sliding him into a chair, did not reassure him a par- 
ticle. With eyes that could not now be depended 
upon, he looked around for the chunk of ice he 
thought awaited him, and with which his jaws 


94 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


were to be “fruzz stiff,” according to Aunt Molly’s 
previous description of the process. Seeing none, 
he feared that her gums had exhausted the supply. 

“Lay your head back, if you please,” said the 
man of golden moments. Down went the chin, 
and had to be brought up into position and its 
wobbling stopped, before Uncle Billy could articu- 
late. Then he said, hoarsely: 

“Lemme — lemme stan’ up whilst you pull; — 
you’re taller’n I be !” 

“No, no! I would never permit that! Just 
close your eyes, and all will soon be over.” 

“By golly ! I know it will ! ’Twon’t take much 
ter finish me up now. I wisht I was ter home; 
will I ever be there agin, do you spose?” 

“Certainly!” 

“Alive, I mean!” 

“What a question! What a question! Why, 
man alive, two minutes more and you can start. 
Just let me look into your mouth an instant, — 
open wider!” 

“Ow-w-w-wow!” yelled Uncle Billy as soon as 
he opened his mouth; and the wider the opening, 
the louder his yell. 

“What on earth are you bellowing for?” asked 
the dentist, employing no tender tone himself. 

“I — I thought you was a-goin’ ter commence,” 
whimpered the patient. 

“So I am, I hope; and I prefer to have you 
defer your vocal exercises until I am through. 
You will drive every other customer out of town, 
if you shout like that.” 

“Where’s yer ice, an’ where’s yer cocoanut ter 
freeze my poor gooms with ? I want ter see ’em !” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


95 

“You mean cocaine, sir; and this is it,” said 
Dr. Jennings, showing him a small vial; but Uncle 
Billy closed his eyes and abruptly turned his head 
away. Then he whined : “Oh, Lord ! ef I was on’y 
ter home! Lemme — lemme see the bootjacks you 
pull with! They mus’n tech me ef they’re cold; 
cold things alius sets my teeth achin’ wuss.” 

“Come, come! you must show your brave little 
wife what spunk you’ve got.” 

“She haint my wife, an’ that’s jes’ the trouble. 
Do yer spose I’d be a-settin’ here a-gittin’ tortured 
like this ef she was? I’d be a-leggin’ it fer home 
as faster as you kin talk, an’ that’s mighty fast, 
by Joe!” 

“Perhaps you do not want your teeth extracted 
today, but merely looked at. Let me see them, 
please. I won’t remove them till you say to.” 

“Honest Injun?” queried Uncle Billy. 

“Yes, honor bright. Now open your mouth, 
and don't holla out again.” 

This time a prolonged growl came from the 
little man who would actually have preferred, at 
that moment, to lose his promised wife, rather than 
be in this predicament. 

“Why, those are a mere nothing ! I can remove 
them as easily as you could a splinter from your 
finger. Shall I do it now, while you are so quiet 
and brave?” 

Acquiescence was expressed only by a long sigh 
that came way from his fat toes, and in passing 
through his mouth, bade a last farewell to the 
teeth Uncle Billy was about to part from, in order, 
as he thought, to gain a wife ; for he was not aware 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


96 

that he had already uttered a sound which ren- 
dered the agreement void. Then 

“Yes, now!" he roared. 

Was there a menagerie near by? A hungry 
lion growling? An immense porker being killed? 
Two rival hand-organs grinding out alleged mu- 
sic? A buzz-saw revolving? The thunderous 
applause and the stamping at a political meeting? 
All these things sounded together in Uncle Billy’s 
head, and then he knew — no — more. 

The silence that followed the din of animated 
conversation, rather alarmed Aunt Molly, so she 
came to learn the cause of it. 

There stood Dr. Jennings, wiping the blood 
from his patient’s mouth, and bathing his temples. 
Aunt Molly gave him but scant time to speak his 
little piece, which he invariably did over each vic- 
tim: “You did splendidly! I never had a braver 
patient," and so forth. 

A glance at the pallid face of the usually florid 
William, unnerved her for a moment; then she 
flew to him, and taking one of his limp hands 
caressingly, called loudly to him to awaken. If 
he lived would he not always blame her for hav- 
ing urged him to this? If he only would speak! 
She turned to Dr. Jennings, and the sight of him 
infuriated her. 

“Have you killed him? Why don’t he speak? 
Where’s his teeth? What d’yer call yerself, any- 
how, ter bleed a man this way? Yer’ve give him 
a hemridge of the nose ! See the blood on his poor 
dear shirt ! Hand me that ere pneumony bottle ; an’ 
ef that don’t fetch him to, you scamper fer a 
doctor !" An able general was Aunt Molly ! 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


97 

Slowly the eyelids so lovingly watched, raised; 
and into the black, beady eyes, came the dawn of 
recognition. Uncle Billy smiled feebly as he said : 
“Molly, dear, I didn’ holler; git a minister!” 

“My good man,” Dr. Jennings broke in, hastily, 
“you don’t want a minister; you’re not going to 
die. Lots of people go off into far worse swoons 
than you did; but I never heard of anything so 
ridiculous as calling for a minister! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
A minister at a dentist’s ! Ha ! ha ! That’s rich ! 

“You were weak from your long ride. The 
removal of this surplus blood will prevent a fit of 
apoplexy, and is the best thing that could occur 
to a man of your age and physique. Now you are 
quite yourself again.” 

“What the old scratch do you know what I 
want? Ef I say I want a minister er a baboon 
er a — a alligator, I know what I’m talkin’ ’bout; 
an’ you don't! 

“Now looker here! You said yer pulled teeth 
’thout pain. Mebbe yer did, once or twice ; but the 
feller yer yanked ’em out of, must of been a dead 
corpse. ’Fore I’d let yer tackle another one of 
mine, I’d go through the rest of my life a-chewin’ 
pap outer a nussin’ bottle!” 

“That’s all right, sir; scold if you like. Your 
teeth are all here upon this table.” 

“Huh?” exclaimed Uncle Billy, the picture of 
astonishment, as he looked in turn at Dr. Jen- 
nings, the teeth, and Aunt Molly. He would not 
be convinced. “Them haint mine; they’re yourn, 
Aunt Molly!” 

“No they haint nuther!” indignantly protested 


98 DADDY’S WIDOW 

the lady. “Mine warn’t no sech prize-fighters as 
them!” 

“Well, mebbe they be mine, arfter all. You did 
do it slick, Mr. Dentist, an’ I thank yer very much, 
now it’s done. All this time I was a-thinkin’ that 
yer’d pulled on’y one; an’ I felt like takin’ yer 
forcepers an’ edstractin’ your nose!” 

Dr. Jennings laughed heartily at the candid re- 
mark. “That’s all right, — no offense taken; — 
we all get a little excited at times.” 

“I spose you’ll pay the bill, Aunt Molly, sence 
I did the suff’rin’ fer the pair of us.” 

“Pay nuthink!” testily asserted the lady, whose 
sore mouth was beginning to affect her temper. 
“Let him keep the teeth ; — he jerked my head harf 
off!” 

“An’ yit yer said it didn’ hurt !” exclaimed Uncle 
Billy. 

“Yer didn’t arsk ’bout my head!” 

“Well, Mr. What-yer-may-call-it, I guess yer’ve 
done us all the harm yer kin crowd inter this day. 
What’s the damage ?” 

The specified amount passed from Uncle Billy’s 
leather wallet to Dr. Jenning’s itching palm; and 
the former’s farewell to the dentist, was : “Ef yer 
come ’long our way, stop in an’ see me ; an’ we’ll 
make it a p’int ter treat you as well as you did us!” 

Aunt Molly merely nodded a farewell as she 
passed out, while Uncle Billy was saying : “Come 
’long Aunt Molly; my jaws is twice as big as 
Dandy’s, now; an’ yourn haint much prettier. 
Le’s git home !” 

Wasn’t Aunt Molly enough like other women to 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


99 

have her pride wounded by such an allusion to 
her personal appearance ? 

Don’t mention the word minister again today, 
Uncle Billy, or you will surely get the mitten. 


CHAPTER X. 


DADDY* S GROOMSMAN. AUNT MOLLY ENTERTAINS. 

“Howdy, Aunt Molly/* was Elva’s unstilted 
salutation the next morning; at which Tommy 
dashed from his chair, evading her as she called 
to him: “Come back here, Cousin Thomas, and 
kiss me! Gone under the table, eh; that’s a nice 
way to treat an old sweetheart.” 

It took but a second to capture Tommy, who 
then was hugged endearingly, as Elva delivered 
the following message: 

“Aunt Molly, Mama sent me over to suggest 
that you either postpone receiving your admirers 
until your mouth is entirely healed, or else let us 
entertain them at our house. You know we would 
be delighted to do so.” 

“I knowed it was some kind idee that brung you 
away when Mr. Carghill is at your house, too. Jes’ 
thank that dear mother of yourn an’ tell her the 
pain’s all gone, an’ it’s on’y my jaws a-grievin’ 
fer their lost tenants, that bothers me now. I 
might jes’ as well of been a ole wore-out nag larst 
night, fer all the supper I got was mush an’ milk. 
I wonder what Ann give Uncle Billy !” 

“The dickens, probably,” suggested Elva. “Are 
all old maids as cranky as Annie Hawkins? I’ll 
never be that way, I’m sure.” 

“Course not, dearie; I know somebuddy who’s 
ioo 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


IOI 


a-goin’ ter pervent it. I see things even when I 
don’t say nuthin’.” 

“I remember now, that I said last year when 
the old gentlemen were here, that if I ever married 
it would be Mr. Clark. But I was such a kid then, 
what I said don’t count. If I cannot get Mr. 
Clark, I shall settle upon Uncle Billy. How will 
that do?” 

“Suits me to a t-i-o-n tion,” replied Aunt Molly. 
“But lorgeons, child, a buddy’d think you was 
twenty-five, stidder fifteen. Howsomedever, we 
both know who it will be, an’ his name’s nuther 
Clark ner Billy.” 

The deeper Eva blushed at this truth, the 
harder she squeezed poor Tommy who protested 
against being made a scape-cat for any one else’s 
matrimonial secrets, by leaping from Elva’s arms 
and rushing from the room. 

“But what about the company? Won’t you let 
us entertain them this time? It may be embar- 
rassing for you to have to talk much without 
teeth.” 

“Don’t worry; I find I kin still jabber fast as a 
stutterin’ Italian. Embarrassin’ ? Ah, child, 
arfter we cross the three-score-an’-ten bridge, 
hours is but seconds to us; an’ in the few that’s 
left me, stidder wastin’ ’em tittervatin’ front of 
a lookin’ glass, er tryin’ ter rub out the wrinkles 
God’s Own Finger has writ ’crost my face, ef I 
kin smooth any humps outer the road of life fer 
a fellar-bein’, I must do it. I’ll find when I git 
up Yunder, the Wise Jedge is goin’ ter arsk me 
what I did with my time , not my teeth” 

“Dear, good Aunt Molly! I know you en- 


102 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


tirely forget yourself in your efforts to give hap- 
piness to others. But tell me, please, how you 
came to invite the five old gentlemen here once 
each year.” 

“You ’member Daddy, don’t yer? Well, long, 
long ago, him an’ me was plannin’ ter be married ; 
an’ what do yer spose struck him, but that he must 
have a groomsman. I didn’t want none; but 
Daddy seemed so sot, I let him have his way, as 
’twas his weddin’ much as mine; but we didn’t 
need him no mor’n a grasshopper needs roller- 
skates on his hind legs. 

“He was a well-ter-do man an’ he give us that 
set of chiny I’m savin’ fer a good girl I know, fer 
a weddin’ present. It’s so fine I’ve been feerd ter 
use it often. 

“Daddy’s groomsman went west ter live, an’ I 
fergot him ’cept when I looked at my chiny teaset. 

“Me an’ Daddy’d been married nigh forty year, 
when one day he took a queer notion fer him an’ 
me ter visit the Old Men’s Home, an’ who did we 
find there but Mr. Pinckney, Daddy’s groomsman 
that had went west ter live an’ come east ter die, — 
broken down, poor, an’ feeble, an’ all alone in the 
world. 

“Me an’ Daddy brung him home with us fer a 
visit, but he was too proud ter stay long; an’ he 
soon left the Ins’tution fer the Home where his 
fam’ly welcomed him. But afore that, Daddy an’ 
me had promised ter invite some of the comrades 
that had been extry kind ter Mr. Pinckney, ter 
spend a day with us, an’ we did. The fust time 
was kinder solemn, fer me an’ Daddy had jest lost 
our groomsman, an’ the rest had lost a friend. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


103 


“A year later, poor Daddy died himself; an* 
sence then, whenever I kin, I do it in his mem’ry. 
’Twon’t be long afore they’ll be with him now. 

“I carn’t fergit that day we went to the Home. 
When supper was ready there, an’ I see the coarse, 
thick dishes Mr. Pinckney had ter use, that hull 
set of del’cut, thin chiny he had give us years afore, 
got down off the shelf ter home an’ j’ined us an’ 
commenced dancin’ a jig right front of my eyes. 
Somethin’ sorter blinded Daddy, too; — a tear, 
mebbe, — an’ he stepped closer ter me an’ fumbled 
’round till he found my hand, an’ there we stood, 
hand holdin’ hand, an’ our heads bowed, listenin’ 
whilst one of the oldest men there arsked the bless- 
in’. Lord! how Daddy an’ me suffered! 

“Don’t cry, child ; I didn’t oughter tell yer this ; 
but somehow when my mem’ry gits loose it’s sure 
ter run back ter Daddy.” 

How could those four old men — they had all 
seen better days — find room for oatmeal, fried 
potatoes, bread and coffee that morning, when each 
one of them was filled to the chin, with joyful an- 
ticipation! How anxiously they had watched for 
daybreak, to learn what the weather would be! 
How carefully they had brushed their clothing! 
The fortunate possessor of two neckties had ex- 
changed one, just for this occasion, with the com- 
rade who, having two fine handkerchiefs, gladly 
loaned him one. 

Scrupulously clean, with their straggling locks 
combed over bald spots or waving behind their 
ears, each tried his best to appear presentable. And 
how the other inmates envied them! 


104 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


When at last the shining, three-seated, covered 
wagon came into sight, with Mr. Deveau driving 
the spirited horses with their glittering harness, 
and handsome Elva Deveau sitting beside her 
father, the joyous excitement of the favored men 
could with difficulty only, be repressed, and had 
an almost paralyzing effect upon those left be- 
hind. 

There were but four to make the visit this time, 
for one of their former number, Mr. Clark, had 
been buried the week before; and they were, after 
a short delay, comfortably seated in the carriage, 
and off they started. 

“Horses perfec’ly gentle, eh, Miss Ella ? 'Cause 
I'm leetle mite skeered," said Mr. Wharton, who, 
with Elva, sat on the back seat. In front of them 
were Mr. Loomis and Mr. Parker, while Mr. 
Lester was on the front seat beside Mr. Deveau. 

Mr. Loomis had been a trifle deaf, “for a dog's 
age," as he expressed it. He was painfully thin, 
his attenuated frame appearing scarcely able to 
hold together. In spite of his infirmities, he was 
so smiling and so determined to be pleased with 
everything and everybody, it made one pity him 
the more. 

“Mr. Loomis, you look chilled ; let me place this 
shawl across your back," said Elva, arranging the 
shawl as she spoke. 

As usual, Mr. Loomis did not hear correctly, 
but responded according to his interpretation of 
the remark: “Hm-m! Dew tell! 'Cars off the 
track!* Well, they dew git off sometimes. The 
fust train I ever see, did. I was on'y a boy then, 
and I was afeerd it was arfter me. The Indians 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


!OS 

never liked trains, — called ’em redskins, or red- 
devils, or something ; — what was it, Mr. Wharton ? 
You ought to know, for you’ve heard me tell it 
lots of times.” 

“I don’t jest precisely seem to quite recollect 
now, the exact remark they made, — but you are 
right, I guess. It was some devilish name,” re- 
plied Mr. Wharton, with pride at having been 
appealed to. 

“Fish?” exclaimed Mr. Loomis, with a slow, 
doubtful shake of his head. “No, sir; I never 
said they called ’em fish! They may have called 
the fust steam boat a fish, but I never heard of it.” 

Mr. Parker cleared his throat several times and 
passed his cane from one hand to the other twice 
before he mustered up courage to say : 

“When I was a boy, I saw the fust boat-load of 
coal that come to New York. People called it 
black stones, and larffed at the idee of its burning. 
The cap’n thought he’d have to go back to whar’ 
he come from; — I don’t know just whar’ it was, — 
don’t quite remember for sure ; — but howsoever, 
a man said he’d buy the hull load if he could git it 
cheap, which he did, and burnt it in his iron foun- 
dry. His name was Drake Barnes, and he bought 
the hull load! Drake Barnes was his name.” 

“Warn’t he a goose !” came from the quiet Mr. 
Lester. The rest all laughed, even poor Mr. 
Loomis, who had not caught a word. 

Mr. Wharton was very particular about guard- 
ing a small, paper-covered package he was hold- 
ing; and at each jolt of the carriage-wheels over a 
stone, an expression of anxiety would cross his 
face, and he would give the parcel a tender, almost 


io6 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


paternal look. The other gentlemen seemed fully 
as solicitous for its safety as he was. 

At the gate at last, where Aunt Molly and Mrs. 
Deveau stood ready to welcome them. It took 
quite a while to get Mr. Wharton from the car- 
riage, for oh, that precious package ! No, not even 
into the hands of kind Mr. Deveau would he en- 
trust it; but by using tact, Elva was allowed to 
hold it for him. 

Flowers, flowers everywhere. Along the fence 
was a row of sweet peas, then flower-beds filled 
with blooming petunias, fragrant mignonette, and 
sweet heliotrope; and brilliant geraniums of all 
hues lending their charms to enhance the day's 
pleasure. But most attractive of all was a bed of 
portulaccas, embracing every color and shade, with 
its border of dainty white sweet alyssum. Aunt 
Molly loved flowers. 

The guests rested in large rocking chairs out on 
the piazza. It was a proud moment in Samuel 
Wharton’s life when he spread out upon his lap the 
yellow-white linen handkerchief he had borrowed 
before starting, laid upon it the tenderly-cared-for 
parcel and slowly unwrapped it. Another paper 
was within the first; that also unfolded by his 
trembling, bony fingers, disclosed what rivalled the 
portulaccas. 

All eyes were upon the object at this auspicious 
moment. Mr. Wharton’s lips parted several times ; 
he moistened them with his tongue, and then speech 
came to them. 

“Mrs. L’Hommedieu, this is for you, with our 
best love. I made it myself, — I used to be a flower 
manufacturer way back in the fifties, you remem- 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


107 


ber. We all wanted to give you something, so we 
saved our tobacco money that visitors at the Home 
sometimes give us, and bought this beautiful crepe 
paper ; and then I made you this bouquet. The lit- 
tle glass beads on the flowers are make-believe 
dewdrops. I wish ev’ry one of them was a dia- 
mond; but even then ^wouldn’t be good enough 
for you. God is the only One besides us four Who 
knows how much sunshine you have brought into 
our poor, dark, old lives; — yes, wuthless old lives. 
But I forgot; Clark knew; and he has told it all 
over heaven by this time.” 

“You bet he has! Clark was one of them fel- 
lars that never could keep nuthing to himself,” 
chimed in Mr. Lester, with a sniff. 

Aunt Molly advanced, as Mr. Wharton’s feeble 
arms extended the offering toward her; and accept- 
ing the gift, she said : 

“This is beautiful! An’ ter think you made it! 
How very kind of you, ev’ry one, ter even think of 
an old lady! Violet, Elva, jest look! An’ Mr. 
Wharton made it! 

“I kin on’y say, it’s beautiful, beautiful; but 
’tain’t harf as beautiful as your hearts. I carn’t 
thank yer anything like what I feel.” 

It seemed as though nothing ever before had so 
touched Aunt Molly, as to know that four aged 
men so soon to start upon that journey from which 
there is no returning, should have saved their few 
donations, depriving themselves of the pleasure and 
solace those nickels could have given, just for the 
sake of giving pleasure to her. 

The donors were delighted to witness the pleas- 
ure they had given, but were taken unawares when 


io8 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


Aunt Molly, standing now a few feet from Mr. 
Wharton, looked thoughtfully into his face; then 
she noted how the aged fingers that had fashioned 
the flowers, were still trembling. It was more than 
she could passively withstand. She simply walked 
up to dear old Mr. Wharton and kissed his with- 
ered cheek. 

That show of affectionate appreciation made 
two tears start, and they trickled down in the fur- 
rows Time had plowed in the old man’s face, chas- 
ing each other to the tip of his nose, and from 
there leaped off and were lost upon the piazza 
floor. 

Lost? Not lost! That night, while pleasant 
dreams flitted through Aunt Molly’s mind, her 
guardian angel came down, and silently gathering 
those tear-drops, he bore them home, where each 
became a pearl to be set in the crown which Christ 
Himself will place upon her brow as He bids her 
“Welcome Home!” 

While Aunt Molly, assisted by Violet and Elva, 
was completing preparations for dinner, Mr. De- 
veau entertained the visitors. After telling them 
that from the hill back of the house there was a 
fine view of the sound and of the Connecticut shore 
beyond, he had difficulty in dissuading them from 
starting to climb the hill. Had they gone, their 
feeble eyes could not have seen one-tenth the dis- 
tance; but would the men have admitted it? With 
their minds’ eyes they would have discerned Spain 
or Patagonia, or both, had anyone today told them 
that those countries were visible from where they 
were. 

Again Mr. Deveau interested them, and they 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


109 

chatted till they believed themselves again import- 
ant factors of the universe. 

“Have you read any papers lately, Mr. Loomis?” 
inquired Mr. Deveau. 

“Paper slates f My! what won’t they invent 
next ! We do live in a wonderful age ; tremendous 
wonderful! When I was a boy, slates were made 
of slate, I think. Dear me! what changes, eh?” 
replied Mr. Loomis, misunderstanding, though he 
had strained every nerve in his worn-out ears, to 
hear correctly for this one day, if never again. 

Mr. Lester remarked that he had not seen a pa- 
per in a month, and added : “My eyes get trouble- 
some; my glasses suited ’em thirty-odd year ago, 
when they was bought, — I bought ’em myself ; but 
perhaps I got cheated. They must have been poor 
quality, and faded ev’ry time they was washed.” 

The smiles that this remark evoked, caused the 
happy old man’s own smile to grow more expan- 
sive as he thought there was now no doubt but that 
he could still do his part as an entertainer. 

Then Mr. Deveau told them, briefly, of items 
of interest in the world of which they were each 
year becoming less and less a part. 

“There are no rumors of war anywhere, gxe 
there?” inquired Mr. Wharton. 

“Not in this country; but in Mexico, where the 
president, Madero, has been assassinated, and a 
serious civil war has started.” 

“Will this war extend to us in time, do you 
think?” anxiously inquired Mr. Parker, sitting 
erect and tightening his grasp on the arms of his 
chair. 


1 10 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Oh no ; we have nothing to do with the claims 
of either side.” 

“I asked, because the mere word ‘war’, startles 
me,” said Mr. Parker, whose voice trembled as he 
continued : “War is a most dreadful scourge, sir ; it 
robbed me of my boy, and that is why I, in my 
declining years, am in a home of charity, instead of 
being where I could render aid to others. Until 
war and business rascals robbed me, I was a gen- 
tleman , sir !” and the speaker placed his hand gen- 
tly upon his breast, wherein was stored a wealth of 
pride now beating tumultuously in rebellion against 
a later generation’s indifference to the fate of a 
soldier’s father. 

The pathetic remarks were too great a strain, 
and after uttering the last five words, Mr. Parker 
sank feebly back in his chair. 

The incident appealed strongly to Mr. Deveau, 
who said, reassuringly : “You are a gentleman still, 
Mr. Parker, as anyone can see ; neither Mrs. 
L’Hommedieu nor my family ever receive into our 
homes men who are not gentlemen.” 

“Well, well!” piped up Mr. Loomis; “I must be 
getting better of my deefness, I do declare. I am 
sure I heard you speaking about war. My grand- 
father went to the Revolution ; but I never believed 
in war. It is murder. The kings and presidents 
who make it are like the drovers who drive a lot of 
lambs along the highway. The innocent things be- 
lieve they are going to where they can gambol in 
clover up to their knees ; but they are soon driven 
into a slaughter-house from which there is no es- 
cape. And so our sons, our lambs, are ordered to 
march. Cheerfully they obey, hoping to win fame 


DADDY’S WIDOW m 

and glory, but — they go to end all upon a field of 
slaughter.” 

‘‘That is very true, Mr. Loomis,” responded Mr. 
Deveau. “You don’t know how good it sounds to 
hear you express your views so clearly. Your 
voice has still the true ring to it.” 

Elva now joined the group and seated herself 
between Mr. Loomis and Mr. Lester. The latter, 
delighted, essayed a compliment. 

“ ‘A pretty rose setting between two old thorns’. 
That’s what a poet said once. I forget his name, 
but it’ll come to me by-and-bye. Part of it was 
William.” 

“Do you mean William Shakespeare?” asked 
Elva. 

“No, I don’t think I do. What he said was : ‘A 
rose will smell jest as good if you call it some- 
thing else.’ Them were his exact words, if I re- 
member. I used to never forget anything,” said 
the old man, sadly. 

Then came the silvery tinkle of a bell whose tones 
gave the welcome announcement that dinner was 
ready. 

Beside each plate was a boutonniere. Elva 
pinned Mr. Wharton’s on the lapel of his coat, and 
then performed a similar service for Mr. Parker. 
Violet arranged Mr. Loomis’s, and Aunt Molly 
was just decorating Mr. Lester when that gentle- 
man became a bit refractory, and declared that he 
did not want to “look like a Maypole!” As Aunt 
Molly paid no attention to his remark, he calmed 
down and felt so ashamed of his rudeness, that not 
another joke came from him that day. However, 
he tried to atone for his trifling irritability, later, 


1 12 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


just as they were leaving- the table, by saying soft- 
ly to his hostess: “And thanks specially for these 
flowers.” 

“I knowed you was pleased with them,” she re- 
sponded ; “on’y you was ’feered I had none for my- 
self.” 

Such a grateful look as the old gentleman be- 
stowed upon her! “Yes, that was it,” he exclaimed, 
eagerly grasping the prevarication, yet feeling very 
guilty as he bobbed behind Mr. Loomis’s taller 
form, to hide the blush he imagined would mantle 
his withered cheeks. 

But the dinner! First there was delicious corn 
soup; then chicken potpie such as was never sur- 
passed in excellence, and in which was breast 
enough for all; and as for the dumplings in it, — 
well, Mr. Loomis went so far as to say : “These are 
jest as good as what my wife used to make; and 
hers were always jest as light as a corpse !” 

After they had groaned through their peach pud- 
ding with cream sauce, an immense watermelon 
was cut," and if never before, the four guests now 
were thankful that the diet at the Home was not 
of the kind nor served in sufficient quantity to 
produce corpulence; on the contrary, it was par- 
tially responsible for the gradual depression be- 
neath their waistbands, leaving room within for 
the temporary expansion of the “inner man,” with- 
out inconvenience from pressure. 

No need to stop and wonder whether or not 
they had had enough ! Eight palms and forty dis- 
tended fingers resting upon four stomachs, and the 
dozy expression upon four countenances, attested 



P. 113 


“ God be with you till we meet again.” 





DADDY’S WIDOW 


”3 

that they had, and answered more convincingly 
than words could have done. 

How the ladies enjoyed it all! What did it 
matter to them if the diffident Mr. Lester had 
wiped the tip of his nose with his napkin ; or if all 
except Mr. Parker had drawn their soup into their 
mouths with a sound like water rushing over a mill- 
wheel ! 

There was an hour or more spent in the “settin’ 
room” where Mr. Deveau had brought his phono- 
graph and set it going. The guests were delighted 
with what Mr. Lester called “canned music.” 

But the greatest, the unsurpassable pleasure, was 
the fact that in the centre of the room, — surely the 
place of honor, — upon an ebony stand, was a rose 
jar containing their gift! 

All too soon the big clock in the hall chimed the 
hour in which they were to start for the Institu- 
tion. While waiting for the wagon, each with hat 
in hand, the aged men stood together near the 
door, and sang plaintively, “God Be With You Till 
We Meet Again.” Poor Mr. Loomis essayed a 
tenor of his own, a full tone too high ; but what did 
that matter? God accepted it. 

It took them a long time for all to bid goodbye 
to their hostess, as they persisted in doing in spite 
of her repeatedly assuring them that she and Mrs. 
Deveau were going to drive with them to the 
Home. Another delay was caused by Elva’s dis- 
appearance ; but the solemnity of parting was veiled 
when to each old gentleman, just before the car- 
riage started, was handed a box containing peach- 
es, apples, cake and candies. 

Aunt Molly was sitting beside Violet who had 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


1 14 

the reins, when there came the sound of a horse’s 
hoofs, and the ladies recognized the figure in dark 
blue, sitting on the horse’s back; as Elva, with 
a merry halloo, rode up to the side of the carriage 
and accompanied it all the way. 

Before the supper bell rang at the Institution, 
Aunt Molly had delivered her grateful, aged 
guests, into the superintendent’s care. 


CHAPTER XI. 


A PLEA REJECTED. RETRIBUTION ( ?) 

“I hope ter lorgeons that ’Lize Porter won’t be 
ter home when we pass her house, an’ come shyin’ 
out at us; fer I feel sorter es ef I want quiet, fer 
awhile, an’ that woman alius roils me up till I feel 
like stranglin’ her. I’m wicked, I spose, but she’s 
the dis’greeablest Christian I know!” said Aunt 
Molly, when the Institution was several miles be- 
hind. But her hope was vain, for as the carriage 
approached Mrs. Porter’s, that person bustled out 
to intercept them. 

“This is fortunate, as it saves my going up to 
your house this evening. I saw your carriage pass 
this morning, and I really thought that Mr. Deveau 
and Elva had been in the woods picking up tramps. 
Such a cargo of hoboes as they had! I declared 
that some of you would be murdered yet; but my 
husband said you were helping Mrs. L’Hommedieu 
give an outing to some proteges of hers. Such an 
erratic performance ! How can you ladies do such 
things ! Such a waste of time, too !” exclaimed the 
great reformer. 

“If we regarded it as time wasted, we would 
not do it,” said Violet, sharply, for she was in- 
censed at Mrs. Porter’s interference and imperti- 
nence. “Those poor men were from the Institu- 
tion, and a day in a home such as circumstances 

“5 


n6 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


have denied them for their own, is something next 
to heaven, in their sad, monotonous lives.” 

“But, dear, I am patroness of several asylums,” 
responded Mrs. Porter, “and I must say I would 
as soon think of herding a lot of pickpockets to 
entertain, as to take such a crew as belongs to any 
charitable institution and harbor them in my house. 
More than that, I have no interest of a personal na- 
ture in such canaille, — human beings once, perhaps, 
who had every opportunity to lay by ample funds 
for their old age, even though they obtained the 
money by questionable methods ; but who preferred 
to degrade the name of ‘man/ by their shiftless- 
ness and indolence. Bah ! I have no patience with 
them!” 

Aunt Molly had not as yet even spoken to Mrs. 
Porter whom she held in deepest disdain. But 
knowledge of that fact did not deter Mrs. Porter 
from directly addressing her: 

“What I wanted first of all, was to get you, Mrs. 
L’Hommedieu, to sign a petition I have here, ask- 
ing the authorities to close the Haywood saloon. 
Will you sign ?” 

“Not on your life ! Mr. Haywood was the kind- 
est man ever was when Daddy died ; an’ you’ve got 
the wrong pig by the ear ef yer think Fll repay 
kindness with injury. So count me out on that 
pompersition, Mrs. Porter,” said Aunt Molly, em- 
phatically. 

“Well, I’m not surprised. I never could get you 
interested in good works. But now to real busi- 
ness; — I am particularly interested in the spiritual 
welfare of the Fijians of Fiji, — a most terrible 
place. We had an address from a missionary 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“7 

from near there, and it has just awakened a longing 
in my bosom to leave all else, and work for their 
salvation. Why, they number tens of thousands, 
and are increasing constantly. They must be edu- 
cated and brought to Christ, and we Christians are 
the ones who must do it.” 

“Poor Fijiers!” Aunt Molly ejaculated. 

“Are you going there soon, Mrs. Porter?” Elva 
inquired. “If so, we might send something by you, 
as we could rely upon its being faithfully deliv- 
ered.” 

Ignoring the sarcasm, Mrs. Porter replied: 
“No ; simply because I cannot be spared here, where 
I have just been appointed secretary of the mis- 
sionary branch of a society as yet in its infancy, 
for the education and conversion of the Fijians. 
You see, child, if we neglect the poor creatures, 
their souls will go down to perdition. They’ve 
butchered and massacred for centuries; they know 
no better. But when we have carried Christianity 
to them, they can be saved, if they will.” 

“Such tribes, I have read, set great store by 
their ancestors; do you not think they would ra- 
ther join them after death, even though it were in 
perdition, than enter a world of bliss, with the 
knowledge that their forefathers are still roasting 
in the hades which your missionaries would teach 
them to steer clear of?” asked Violet. 

“Not at all! You do not grasp the situation. 
God wants it done, and only we can do it.” 

“Oh ! Hm-m ! I see ! Specially ’pointed !” said 
Aunt Molly. “But carn’t Christ help yer?” 

“They never heard of Him.” 

Elva’s horse, going around in circles, was try- 


1 18 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


in g his best, to break up the useless meeting ; and 
his restlessness made Elva still more annoyed and 

angry. 

“Do you mean to say, Mrs. Porter, that the In- 
finite has for years, for centuries, failed to save 
those whom He created? And will mere women 
dare assert that the All-Wise Father has seemingly 
regarded with indifference an important part of 
His duty until He had to be reminded of it by 
them?” asked Elva, whose eyes flashed as she 
spoke. 

“That is blasphemy!” exclaimed the now 
aroused Mrs. Porter. 

“It is the light in which I, too, view the sub- 
ject,” said Violet. “And I can assure you now, 
once for all, that our views upon the subject of 
foreign mission work, do not coincide with your 
own.” 

“An' I'll tell yer the best thing fer your serciety 
ter do ef it believes in prayer at all, is ter arsk yer 
Maker, fer He made the Fijiers too, ter save 'em in 
His Own way an' His Own time,” Aunt Molly 
declared. 

“You are decidedly, you are impiously wrong! 
Why cannot I get you enthusiastic over this work ! 
1 could not face my Maker at the bar of Judgment 
if I had not saved one Fijian soul, at least; for I 
know that they are just hungering to be saved. 

“Those poor, benighted creatures! Just picture 
them; no home comforts, — no bibles, — no clothes! 
How I would enjoy, this very day, being there and 
dressing one of them in Mr. Porter's garments, 
and then watching his countenance as he views 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


1 19 

himself in his mirror! Then I would have him 
look on the book with me while I taught him his 
lesson from the bible.” 

“I fear your first experience would also be your 
last, unless your charge were an infant,” said 
Elva. “Really, Mrs. Porter, my mother is too 
tired to delay here longer; aren’t you, Mama?” 

“Indeed I am,” replied Violet, preparing to 
drive on. 

“Stop just a moment. I want to ask you all for 
a contribution toward the purchase of bibles for 
our missionaries to take to the Fijians; — bibles, 
you know, are the first requisites.” 

“Can your Fijians read English?” asked Elva. 

“Perhaps not, as yet; but our missionaries will 
soon teach them to.” Then looking squarely into 
Aunt Molly’s honest face, Mrs. Porter added: 
“Perhaps you have forgotten what Christ said of 
the widow’s mite.” 

“Not at all,” coolly asserted Aunt Molly. “He 
said it was put in the treasury; your Fijiers warn’t 
mentioned. But bless my garters ! ef ’tain’t ’nough 
ter set the angels all over heaven a-larffin’ ter 
look down an’ see women tryin’ ter git away from 
the one white man God has give ’em, an’ sailin’ to 
’tother side of the universe ter cuddle bare-naked, 
black savages! Quite modest in yer, too, ter send 
bibles fust an’ clothes arfterwards. Mebbe they’ll 
make you their queen! 

“Now then, ef them niggers over there have any 
souls, an’ ef we are ter set next to ’em up in Glory, 
we’ll find out ’twas all mapped out ’bout savin’ em, 
$fore ever you was borned. The Lord knows 


120 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


why He made sech varmints, an’ He knows 
whether He wants ’em saved er not; an’ I advise 
yer ter stop interferin’ with Divine Providence.” 

“Just hear that ungodly woman!” Mrs. Porter 
almost shouted; but that did not prevent Aunt 
Molly from continuing: 

“An’ ’Lize Porter, this rebukin’ Providence fer 
leavin’ a lot of souls ter go ter the bad place fer 
thousands an’ thousands of years whilst He was 
a-’ waitin’ fer you ter git borned a-puppose ter save 
the tag end of ’em, is dangerous business. Yer 
won’t git many sane folks who would blame yer 
poor husbun’ ef he should be ’tacked suddenly with 
the feelin’ that he was fore-ordained ter go an’ 
save the souls of some buxom wenches quite fur 
from where you’d be. Mebbe that’d wake you up 
to your real duty, eh!” 

Mrs. Porter’s always-limited stock of patience 
had been exhausted. 

“You cannot evade what should be considered 
a privilege as well as a duty, by dictating to me! 
Far more noble and deserving of reward is it to 
assist those whom no one else will help,” said 
Mrs. Porter whose face had assumed an almost 
Fijian expression, “than to be toting and stuffing 
unworthy old paupers!” 

Aunt Molly could scarcely refrain from physi- 
cally attacking the brazen egotist who, under the 
cloak of religion, dared offer such insults to the 
men who had been her respected guests. Her 
breath came fast and heavy ; her hands were 
tightly clenched, and every nerve in her body was 
tense, as she leaned far over the carriage wheel, 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


121 


and with each word crisp and emphatic, she said : 

“Mrs. Porter, those gentlemen were my guests, 
— as honest an’ ’spect’ble as your fathers er mine 
was. Me an’ you is borned but we hain’t buried 
yit. There’s Homes fer old women as well as fer 
old men. We may sometime meet as inmates of 
sech a place, an’ ef that time comes, we will thank 
God fer our shelter there. More’n that, we’ll 
thank Him fer keepin’ some good women on 
American soil, ter ’tend ter home salvation, 
stidder lettin’ ’em gad off, hopin’ ter put pink 
pajamas an’ four-in-hand neckties onter savages! 

“Now ef yer’ll step a leetle closter, I’ll give yer 
a heart-ter-heart talk; an’ I’ll say that ef any one 
of them ere niggers you are so disgustin’ fond of 
needs a bible more’n you do , dress him fust an’ 
’en bring him ter me an’ I’ll give him mine. But 
’twouldn’t do him no good; fer it’s my ’pinion 
that he’s like some white folks I’ve knowed, — 
already too fur gone ter be anything hut damned !” 

Violet, now more angered by Mrs. Porter than 
ever before, nodded to Elva, who understood; 
while the team, welcoming their mistress’s chir- 
rup, almost flew along the road toward home. 

Without having deigned an expression of fare- 
well, the “Secretary - of - the-missionary - depart- 
ment - of - the - society - for - the - education- 
and-conversion-of-the-Fijians-of-Fiji,” dilated her 
nostrils, and loftily swept into her house. 

Mr. Deveau was standing at Aunt Molly’s gate, 
waiting to get into the carriage and drive home 
with his wife who was listening to the old lady’s 


122 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


usual instructions about sending for her if any- 
thing happened, day or night. 

With the recollection of Mr. Deveau’s kindness 
that day to her guests, Aunt Molly’s greeting to 
him was very cordial. 

The carriage had started. 

Aunt Molly was tired after her day’s labor and 
fourteen miles drive; and the controversy with 
Mrs. Porter had been more fatiguing than all 
else. Going up the steps she dropped her hand- 
kerchief, but before descending to pick it up, she 
said to Tbmmy stretched out on the doormat, 
yawning a welcome to her: “You an’ me’ll take a 
good rest ternight, bub; I’m so beat out it seems 
a mile jes’ down these steps ter git my ’tarnel 
hankercher 1” 

Turning suddenly, she lost her balance, fell, 
and lay in a heap at the foot of the steps. 

Fortunately, Mr. Deveau had glanced back just 
as Aunt Molly fell, and he sprang from the car- 
riage and was at her side in a moment. Violet 
soon joined him, got the key from under the mat 
and opened the door. As tenderly as though she 
were his own mother, Mr. Deveau laid Aunt 
Molly upon her couch and then hurried to Doctor 
Russell’s. 

Violet bathed Aunt Molly’s ghastly- white face 
and held ammonia to her nostrils, until the tired 
eyes opened. The sufferer’s first thought was of 
her favorite. 

“Go home, you poor, tired dear, an’ git some 
rest. You’ve been a-helpin’ me all day, an’ — how 
come I here? Now I reck’leck! ’Twas that ’Lize 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


123 

Porter an’ her pet niggers made me tumble like 
I was a wobbly, new-borned calf. I’m ’shamed of 
myself! Who brung me in here?” 

“Mr. Deveau carried you in as easily as though 
you were a sleeping baby. You see he is strong, 
and tender as well.” 

“Yes, I see; I see more’n that. I see I mis- 
jedge folks what I didn’t oughter, sometimes. 
Violet?” 

“Yes, Aunt Molly, I’m right here.” 

“I wonder what ’Lize Porter’s doin’! I bet 
she’s huggin’ herself an’ settin’ down waitin’ fer 
heaven ter send a big blessin’ down onter her fer 
doin’ her duty by showin’ us where we failed in 
ours. She’s prayed fer all sorts of mis’ry ter come 
ter us, — specially me. I’ve got it. O, ef I on’y 
had my teeth back jes’ fer ter-night, so’s I could 
grit ’em, I know I could bear my pain better.” 

“Here comes the one who will relieve you, Aunt 
Molly; here is Doctor Russell,” said Violet. 

“Why, Mrs. L’Hommedieu !” exclaimed the 
doctor, cheerily; “if entertaining guests prostrates 
you like this, my sister and I will be very sparing 
of our visits to you.” 

“I’m so thankful ’twas me, stidder Violet or 
Elva. Fer it hurts , doctor!” and again the suf- 
ferer’s cheeks were pale as death. 

Doctor Russell pronounced the sprain a bad one 
which would necessitate perfect repose for several 
days. Violet’s decision to remain with her, met 
a vigorous protest from Aunt Molly who finally 
consented to have Mr. Deveau bring Miranda 


124 DADDY’S WIDOW 

West, who, though deaf, was something of a 
nurse. 

After sundown, while Mrs. West sat by the 
foot of the couch, staring at her patient, Aunt 
Molly heard a well-known footfall; and beckoning 
to her nurse, she vainly tried to get her to open 
the door, which the woman, being timid, had fas- 
tened. 

“Mirandy, onlock the door !” Aunt Molly finally 
shouted. 

“Carn’t understand yer ! Who’s rockin' the 
floor f Yer a-wanderin’ a little, I spose, poor 
thing !” 

Then Miranda saw a man’s form at the window, 
and said, angrily: “Here’s another one of them 
men! I sharn’t let him in. Yer’ve had too many 
on ’em already; an’ that’s upsot yer so yer think 
the floor is rockin’!” 

Never-the-less she opened the door slightly, and 
before she could bar him out, Uncle Billy was in 
the room. The sight of his intended wife lying there 
so pale and motionless, brought a lump in his 
throat that prevented a word from escaping him; 
and though he tried his utmost, he could do no 
more than raise and lower his under jaw, as he 
had done at the dentist’s. 

At last a sound came, and then he asked: 

“Wha-wha-what’s up ?” 

“Nuthin’s up; I’m down!” replied Aunt Molly. 

“Yes, but what makes yer be? This-this is aw- 
ful!” 

“Nuthin’ ser’ous, on’y I was wicked an’ stingy 
terday an’ wouldn’t give ’Lize Porter some money 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


125 


ter send ter some heathen niggers she calls Pee- 
weegians, I think. So I spose her prayers is an- 
swered, an’ here I be.” 

“Be yer hurt?” 

“Somewhat.” 

“Kin I do anything? How’d it happen; did 
’Lize hit yer?” 

“I done a stunt, an’ hurt my foot; that’s all.” 

“I thought so! Yer won't be car’ful. Stood 
onter yer head, like’s not, an’ bounced over. Yer 
may be lamed fer life, an’ what’ll become of me?” 
asked the worried old gentleman. 

“She’s spraint her ankle,” piped Miranda West, 
trying to be sociable. 

“Oh! how it must hurt! I wisht I could bear 
harf the pain fer yer. But I’m no good at nussin’, 
so I won’t stay an’ bother yer. I on’y looked in 
ter see ef yer had a good time terday with yer 
other gentlemen friends.” 

“Yes, I did; there was on’y four this year; one 
died larst week.” 

“I don’t care ef there was a hunderd so long as 
Porky Hobbs warn’t ’mongst ’em.” 

“Now Uncle Billy, when yer know I never cared 
a twist of my knuckle fer him, why do yer bring 
him up so often?” 

“All right, so long’s yer really don’t. But when 
I looked in the mirror, — say; sure Mirandy’s deef 
yit?” he cautiously inquired. 

Aunt Molly’s affirmative nod assured him, and 
lowering his voice for safety against any miracle 
being performed upon the nurse’s ears while he 
was present, he added : “When I looked in the mir- 


126 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


ror this arfternoon an’ see how humly I’ve growed, 
I wondered how you could care fer sech a funny 
mixup as I be now. Porky’s got hair on his head ; 
mine’s all gone on top. My eyes gits littler ev’ry 
year; an’ my nose plunges out jes fur ’nough ter 
keep me from scratchin’ my head with my chin.” 

While this description was exaggerated, Aunt 
Molly knew it was poor policy to gratify a man’s 
desire for flattery; at the same time she was sorry 
for Uncle Billy, — his mirror had not deceived him. 

After looking at the features he had enumer- 
ated, and recalling how he had looked twenty years 
before, as a mother might console a child whose 
toy balloon had burst while his brother’s had re- 
mained perfect, Aunt Molly said: “Never mind, 
Uncle Billy; Time has been rough; but don’t be 
downcasted, fer — fer yer ears is good-lookin’ yit !” 

“Thank the Lord fer that ! Porky’s ears is like 
a jackass’s! How’s yer pain now? Guess mebbe 
I’d better go, an’ let yer sleep. Mirandy looks 
ready ter chew my head off, pretty ears an’ all. 
So goodbye till termorrer.” 

“Goodbye, Uncle Billy.” 

One of Aunt Molly’s earliest callers the fol- 
lowing morning was Mrs. Hilliard, who said: 
“Brother told me last night that you were a won- 
derfully brave little woman.” 

“That’s what that other scalawag over ter 
Punkses Holler said ter me, when he pulled my 
teeth out,” was the response. 

“Violet is greatly upset by Mrs. Porter’s saying 
what she did to you; I wish I had been there; I 
think I would have silenced the creature.” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 127 

“Ef you did, it would of been more’n a reg’munt 
of soldiers could. Why, ’Lize Porter is carlk’lated 
ter upset the United States Gov’munt! She’s a 
reg’lar tarnader when she sets out ter blow ’bout 
the heathen. John Porter sure drawed a booby- 
prize in Life’s lottery.” 

When at last Aunt Molly was able to go around 
again, she said to Polly, who had been remarkably 
quiet for several days: 

“We prize our b’longin’s most when we still 
have ’em but carn’t use ’em. I never dreamp, till 
my ankle got spraint, ‘How dear ter my heart’ 
was both legs ‘of my childhood.’ Sing, Polly !” 


CHAPTER XII. 


A DONATION PARTY. WHAT THE PALMS HEARD. 

February came and strewed delicate snow- 
drop blossoms under the spruce and the hemlock 
trees, so that Father Winter, whose backbone was 
broken, could, for a day or two, see blooming 
flowers ere He died. Then, as the Old Man passed 
into Eternity, March, His next of kin, employed 
the barbarians’ custom of trying to convince the 
world that grief’s depth is commensurate with the 
vigorousness of their moaning and howling. Fol- 
lowing a month of this alleged mourning, the ad- 
vent of gentle April, whose teardrops fell silently 
upon earth’s responsive breast, was most wel- 
come. 

One morning, bright and early, there were 
signs of life around almost every house in Maple- 
ton, for that evening there was to be a reception 
to the new pastor and his bride. A large attend- 
ance was anticipated, and the supper must be par 
excellence. So there were no women laggards 
that morning, when time was an unpurchasable 
commodity. 

The parsonage had been thoroughly renovated 
and made pleasant and homelike to the Reverend 
and Mrs. Henry Bradley, who had moved their 
few belongings in, only the day before, and had 
128 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


129 


then been compelled, as is customary in many 
localities, to turn over the proprietorship of their 
home, to a committee, and become mere witnesses 
of the preparations made for entertaining sheep 
and lambs alike; for all must ever be made wel- 
come at the parsonage. 

Tall, erect, broad-chested, athletic Brother Brad- 
ley, in a black broadcloth suit which in color ex- 
actly matched his hair and whiskers (the latter 
being of the properly-cropped variety that lie 
close to the cheeks and offset the complexion so 
admirably), his dark blue eyes almost black in 
their intensity, stood beside his bride, under the 
floral canopy arranged in the rear of the back 
parlor. 

Yellow cowslips, white, pink, and purple hya- 
cinths, Easter lilies, scarlet and crimson geraniums, 
— all blending with the delicate green of smilax 
sprays, made the bower a glow of color that would 
have been trying to any but a perfect complexion, 
and Mrs. Bradley’s stood the test. The lady was 
tall, slender, and fair, with an interesting face that 
became beautiful when she smiled. Her dress 
was of gray silk, and upon her breast were fas- 
tened a few white carnations, last survivors of the 
bouquet she had carried the Thursday previous. 

Edward Deveau, as master of ceremonies, pre- 
sented the people to their new pastor and his wife. 

Mrs. Lavelle, a bright, fascinating widow, 
sparkling with jet and radiant with health, was 
the first arrival. She told Mrs. Bradley that 
Brother Bradley would surely succeed in his 
chosen vocation; she knew it by the clasp of his 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


130 

hand. Indeed, we all know that the warm, mag- 
netic palm of the hand that almost has lungs of 
its own, can always be trusted. Such a hand had 
Brother Bradley, and while shaking hands with 
him, one instinctively felt that at last had been 
found an anchor, safe and sure; and that no ill 
could befall him or her who kept in touch vyth 
this man who had consecrated his life to the 
cause of the Master. 

The second arrival was Sister Harrison, fol- 
lowed by her scant-whiskered consort. The ex- 
cess of fat on the former’s ribs, was so squeezed 
and jammed, that her every breath was audible. 
The odor of musk upon her was sickening — no 
wonder Brother Harrison was pallid and thin, — 
and from the welcome she gave Brother Bradley, 
one would think she owned the parsonage and the 
people as well. 

Mrs. Bradley was condescendingly noticed, and 
then Mrs. “Lofty” moved on and allowed little 
Brother Harrison to take her place. 

It were pardonable if a look of compassion came 
into the pastor’s face, and if his greeting were a 
trifle more cordial to this down-trodden one of 
his own sex, who was afflicted with such a help- 
meet as the immense article who had preceded him. 

The parlors were now filling rapidly; — happy, 
and miserable ; — true, and hypocritical ; — youth- 
ful bloom, and age’s wrinkles; — red, immense- 
fisted, and dainty, white-fingered, met side by side, 
and all mingled with social equality at this gath- 
ering. 

“Not only our own people, but harf the Prisper- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


131 

terians and Baptists seems to be here tonight. 
Brother Bradley; it is a good omen. You see you 
will have a wide field to labor in,” remarked one 
mellow deacon, his eye-glasses falling off his nose. 

“I trust I may prove worthy to become the 
counselor and friend of each ; and with God’s help, 
I will,” responded our new pastor. 

“Good! good! here comes Aunt Molly! Now 
this will be a reception worth remembering,” ex- 
claimed an enthusiastic member. 

As the well-known, sprightly little old lady en- 
tered the parlor, Mr. Sanders, who sometimes 
played the cornet in the choir on special occasions, 
thinking to have a joke at her expense, asked her 
if Uncle Billy were coming; and her characteristic 
reply caused a ripple of laughter and turned the 
tables upon “Sandy.” “I knows nuthin’ ’bout 
yer Uncle Billies, ner yer Aunt Billies! I come 
alone; an’ I’m nuther drunk ner crazy.” 

Mr. Deveau presented Aunt Molly, who made 
her best, old-fashioned courtesy taught her sixty 
odd years before, and then offered her congratu- 
lations to the bride and groom, as follows: 

“You are all happiness now, an’ seemin’ly 
walkin’ on roses. Bimebye, when they fade, an’ 
the road gits rough an’ dusty, an’ yer run afoul 
of stumps an’ snags, ef yer carn’t shove ’em aside 
ner jump over ’em, don't try kickin’ at ’em, but 
jest — walk — ’round ’em, an’ yer’ll find life is 
smooth-goin’ agin. I know, fer I’ve lived nigh 
onter seventy year now; — long afore you ever 
thought of bein’ borned.” 

“Your advice is appreciated, kind friend; and 


132 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


we will endeavor to profit by it," responded 
Brother Bradley; and Mrs. Bradley added: 

“And if we find it impossible to ‘walk 'round' 
our difficulties, I hope you will visit us and plan 
another way for us." 

“Any time," answered the flattered adviser; 
“jes' you send, an' I’ll run right to yer." 

As Aunt Molly passed on, Mr. Deveau pre- 
sented Mrs. Haywood, who, with sparkling black 
eyes, pink and white complexion, red lips parting 
over perfect teeth, hair of raven blackness, all 
added to the knowledge of how to attire herself 
most becomingly, and then doing it, was a woman 
whom most men looked at twice; and very proud 
of his wife, was Mr. Haywood. 

The newcomer was cordial in her greeting to 
Mrs. Bradley; but when her hand lay just for an 
instant in Henry Bradley’s, and her eyes looked 
into his, a feeling of lostness, — a sense of being 
immaterialized, filled and thrilled her. What 
caused such a sensation ? What could it portend ? 
She had never seen this man before ; she had shaken 
hands with and looked into the eyes of hundreds of 
men. But the spell that this hand and these eyes 
cast over her, was entirely new, unprecedented, and 
strangely pleasurable. 

Next came the surprise of the evening; — all 
knew that Aunt Molly was the lode-star that had 
drawn him. His chin was tied up in a large, white 
handkerchief which he removed; but he still car- 
ried in one hand his beaver hat. 

Although it was several months since he had 
lost a bride by exercising his lungs while in the 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


133 

dentist’s chair, his face still had an annoying knack 
of swelling unexpectedly. 

A dozen offers to relieve him of his hat, were 
declined; and tucking the tile under his left arm, 
he advanced toward the floral bower. The lamp- 
glare shone upon his bald crown that had been 
soaped and washed until it glistened. The fringe 
of gray hair that bordered the shining spot, was 
just long enough to meet the collar of his swal- 
low-tail coat. Was he disconcerted to discover 
that he was the only wearer of such a coat? Not 
at all! (And the next morning, at breakfast, 
when entertaining his sister Annie with an ac- 
count of the reception, he said: “Who do yer 
spose was the best dressed man there outsider the 
parson? Yer Brother Bill , dressed in a swaller- 
taiir ) 

As Mr. Deveau said: “Brother Bradley and 
Mrs. Bradley, allow me to introduce our good 
friend and neighbor, Mr. William Hawkins,” Un- 
cle Billy forgot even the first word of the pretty 
speech he thought he had memorized for this 
moment. So, while shaking the minister’s hand 
as though it were a pump handle, which would 
seriously affect the pump’s internal arrangement if 
let go of too suddenly, he substituted : “Well, par- 
son, yer’ve come here ter wrastle with our souls, 
eh?” 

Then, after adjusting his hat more securely 
under his left arm, he addressed Mrs. Bradley: 
“How d’yer do, marm ? Do yer like dogs ? ’Cause 
I’ve got a little bull pup, same breed as my Ponto 
on the mother’s side, an’ setter on the father’s; 


134 


DADDY’S WIDOW' 


an' I meant to of brung him ’long fer a weddin* 
present to yer; but whilst I was a-tyin’ my cravat, 
Sister Ann opened the door, an’ the little beggar 
skipped.” 

By this time Aunt Molly saw who it was that 
had attracted a number of giggling youngsters to 
the floral bower. “Ef that critter don’t take the 
cake then I’m a crow!” was her expressive if in- 
elegant remark; and the laugh it raised, caused 
Uncle Billy to look in that direction. All smil- 
ingly, he advanced toward her. 

“I thought I’d find you here, Aunt Molly, fer 
when I stopped at your castle I found the door 
fast. I called out, Tolly, where’s yer aunt gone?’ 
She got off somethin’ in Spanish, but I says, ‘I 
don’t care a darn ’bout that; where’s she gone?’ 
An’ ef she didn’t sing ‘Gone where the woodbine 
twineth’ ! 

“Then I ’membered you sayin’ ’bout the church 
folks a-stringin’ wires onter flowers fer the new 
parson ter set under ternight. So I hurried home 
an’ got inter these duds, an’ here I be. Yer awful 
glad ter see me, I persume; I know I be.” 

“Well, I might be gladder;” responded Aunt 
Molly ; “but as this is a f ree-fer-all affair, you’re as 
welcome as I be. Did yer look in the glass afore 
yer come?” 

“Course not ! D’yer think I’m a girl ?” drawled 
Uncle Billy. 

“I on’y arst so’s ter tell yer yer’ve got one of 
yer cheeks on lopsided.” 

* “Oh, I spose the blame thing’s gone an’ swelled 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


135 

up agin jest when I wanted it ter not ter. You 
look as nat’ral as in life.” 

It was now after nine o’clock. A hush fell upon 
the company, as the new pastor raised his hands, 
held them motionless a moment; then knelt down, 
his bride and the others doing likewise, and offered 
up a soul-inspiring petition for divine blessings to 
be meted out to all. 

His magnetic voice was a revelation ! The peo- 
ple realized that they had secured a prize. 

Then the evening’s enjoyment began. Every- 
one was in a happy mood, and the parsonage re- 
sounded with joyous laughter. Up stairs, the 
young people played “Spin the platter,” “Clap in, 
clap out,” and were just preparing to play “Copen- 
hagen.” But in the parlors, conversation sud- 
denly ceased, and all seemed spellbound, as they 
gazed at the vision of animated health and beauty 
that stood at the front parlor entrance. 

Diamonds flashed, silken skirts rustled, and rich 
laces fluttered, as their wearer, with simulated 
modesty, approached the group of which Brother 
Bradley was the center. 

Mr. Deveau had but just remarked that his 
duty as master of ceremonies was about over, as 
far as introductions were concerned; it now de- 
volved upon him to perform one more. 

The belated guest nodded coldly to him, and 
extended her hand to Brother Bradley, while Ed- 
ward Deveau heard, as though it were the sighing 
of winds in a distant forest, his own voice saying: 
“Miss Gray, Brother Bradley.” 

He tried to raise his hand to wipe the damp 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


136 

which he feared would soon fall in big drops from 
his forehead, but his arm refused to move. What 
made the chairs spin ’round, and the people walk 
upon the ceiling? Now there came total darkness, 
save for the light radiating from one face, the face 
of Anna Gray, as she stepped to his side and whis- 
pered softly: “I must see you, alone.” 

A child, seeing him standing so quietly, went 
up and confidingly nestled her hand in his. That 
roused him, and bending his head, without realiz- 
ing what he was saying, he said to the little one: 
“Go and ask Mrs. Deveau if she will play Copen- 
hagen with me.” 

Light-hearted and joyous, the child obeyed; 
while with a meaning glance at Anna Gray, Ed- 
ward Deveau went into the dining room. 

Miss Gray addressed a few words to Mrs. 
Bradley, responded coolly to a few introductions 
that lady made, and then, while some witticism of 
Aunt Molly’s attracted the throng, followed Ed- 
ward Deveau. 

He stood in the bay window among the palms 
and ferns. Anyone could have joined him there 
without comment, as the good sisters in that room 
were intent solely upon arranging the long table 
for its first installment of guests, and were hurry- 
ing to and from the kitchen, like busy bees pre- 
paring for the celebration in honor of their queen 
returning from her wedding trip. 

Anna Gray spoke: “You are not glad to see 
me ; but understand this : — I love you, Edward 
Deveau, and I will go to the end of the world for 
you. I’ll search every corner of heaven, and if 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


137 

you are not there, I will plunge into the lowest 
depths of hell and look for you till I find you. I 
will never give you up. Your daughter is here 
tonight, and so also should your son be. I know 
what I am , — a woman scorned! But take care ! 

“How useless in you to send your friend to offer 
me affluence if I would renounce you, and become 
the wife, or worse, of a man who has seen me 
and who greatly admires me! What would that 
profit me? ’Twould but make a greater barrier 
between us! My answer to your friend, was this : 
‘I love Edward Deveau, and have, since childhood. 
For him I gave up reputation and honor, when I 
found I could! not otherwise claim him. He shall 
repay me with himself! Gold and jewels, in his 
stead, cannot satisfy me !’ 

“That white-faced woman who shares your 
home and name, is as cold as a snowdrop; — I am 
like a warm rose. My love is intense, passionate, 
satisfying. I implore you, Edward, to come to the 
woman who loves you as no man ever before was 
loved. Consent, before it is too late !” 

Every word was burning into Edward Deveau’s 
brain. What a relief it would be to tell the woman 
how he loathed her! Yet where an expression of 
his real sentiments would surely precipitate dis- 
aster, an appeal might perhaps be effective. 

The women flying to and from the kitchen, 
might soon observe them now, so he must speak 
hurriedly : “Anna Gray, when I first saw you, you 
were a pure, innocent child? but that you had not 
had lovers ere I met you later in life, is untrue. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


138 

You still have youth and beauty, and many years 
in which to enjoy life. 

“At recess, in the real old days, many a time I 
took your little, half-frozen hands in mine and 
rubbed warmth into them. The day you skated 
out beyond the danger line and broke through the 
ice, I rescued you. And would you, could you, 
strike the blow that must render my child father- 
less, and murder my innocent wife?” 

“You should have thought out your fine senti- 
ments years ago. Shall my child go fatherless 
while your 'innocent’ wife’s has a father’s love and 
protection ? I know your heart is great and good. 
It is years since you came to me for three days, — 
three short days out of an eternity of years ! Come 
to me now for one year ! I will make you happier 
than you have ever been. If you will not, I swear 
that neither shall that white-faced woman have 
your caresses. Tomorrow evening I will wait at 
home to see you. Do not fail me.” 

The palms waved their sword-like fronds as if 
in defiance, as her dress swept past them; but the 
graceful, delicate ferns held their breath till she 
had gone from the room. 

Those who had hoped to again see and per- 
haps become acquainted with the dashing stranger, 
were disappointed ; for she had disappeared. 

No peace ever again in this world! Why was 
he singled out as one to be tortured for that which 
some men practice all their lives, and escape pun- 
ishment? He must leave Mapleton, — leave the 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


139 

world ; and go — No time now to speculate as to 
where ! 

He would return home that night, arrange his 
business affairs, kiss his sleeping wife and daugh- 
ter farewell, and then, — his aim was true, — good- 
bye, goodbye to all! Surely, God, Who had de- 
serted him, would then have pity upon a wronged 
wife! To His care would he commit her and 
their child, and then — end — all! 

A young girl’s scream ! A rushing in of people ! 
Edward Deveau lay paralyzed! 

It was strange; but with their hurrying and 
flustering, the busy matrons, arranging the raised 
biscuits, the jellies, cottage cheese, pressed chicken, 
cream cake, and pickles, had not once looked to- 
ward the bay window ; but Elva looked, and there, 
his face almost purple, his head upon his breast, 
she saw her father sway and fall. Her clear voice 
penetrated every room. Laughter was silenced, 
sentences uncompleted, and amazed horror pos- 
sessed the throng. 

Harold Russell was the first to reach his pros- 
trate friend, and Brother Bradley was next. Half 
a score of strong arms were extended and formed 
a litter to bear the unconscious man up the stairs 
and place him upon a bed. 

Mrs. Hilliard was commanded to keep Violet 
and Elva with her in an adjoining room, and to 
assure them that all would soon be well. “But 
will it, Brother?” she questioned. 

“God only knows,” Doctor Russell replied. “We 
have telegraphed for Dr. Emery from Brooklyn, 
for the highest medical aid is required. Some un- 


140 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


due excitement has occasioned this. Go, now; be 
tender and brave with poor Vi — with Mrs . De - 

veau 

Ah, astute Doctor Russell! though you may not 
be aware of the fact, yet in the tenderness with 
which you began and then retracted the name you 
so dearly love, the secret you believe securely 
guarded in your heart, has found lodgment in 
your sister's bosom, also. 

Thus ended the evening that had promised un- 
alloyed pleasure. Deacons and others shook their 
heads solemnly and remarked, to those who knew 
it as well as they did, that “the ways of Provi- 
dence are past finding out." Brother Watkins as- 
serted that Brother Deveau was always the soul 
of uprightness;. the man whose name bore no tar- 
nish ; whose record Above was almost spotless. 

Little did those men know, while eulogizing 
their stricken friend, that it was in consequence of 
his intense effort to keep from their knowledge the 
blot upon the “record Above," that he now lay at 
death's door. 

How gratifying to his brethren was the remem- 
brance of the many times that Brother Deveau had 
testified that he was ready to go when the Master 
called him! How they would have repudiated as 
a most ungodly aspersion, that Edward Deveau's 
will not be the last case where the Just Judge puts 
to the test the sinner who, kneeling to Him, makes 
a bid for popularity among his neighbors, by haz- 
ardously making the assertion that he is prepared 
to respond to his name in the heavenly roll-call ! 

Down in the parlors, eyes that an hour ago were 


DADDY'S WIDOW 141 

sparkling with pleasure, were dimmed with tears, 
as Brother Bradley, upon his knees, fervently peti- 
tioned Almighty God to restore to consciousness 
and health, the dear brother so suddenly stricken, 
and who was even now resting with one hand upon 
the latch of the Pearly Gates. 

The feast that the ladies had so carefully pre- 
pared, had scarcely been tasted; and by midnight, 
all except a few who might be of assistance, or 
so thought, had gone to their respective homes. 

Physicians have strange experiences, but sel- 
dom one as personal as this ; and Harold Russell's 
recording angel was busy during that entire night, 
while the noble doctor did all that human skill 
could do, to save the life of the man who stood, and 
by right, between him and the woman he had 
grown to love; and the thought that sped straight 
from his soul to heaven, was, that if a life were 
required, willingly he now offered his own, that 
the wife of the helpless man before him might 
not experience the sorrow of widowhood. 

As the first, faint tinge of pinkish light was 
discernible in the eastern sky, Edward Deveau 
opened his eyes. 

“Keep perfectly quiet, my friend; all is well,'' 
said Doctor reassuringly. 

As his nerves gathered force, the sick man's 
gaze traveled in search of other familiar faces, and 
Doctor Russell tapped upon the door of the room 
in which his nearest and dearest were awaiting a 
summons. When the wife and daughter entered, 
the former was composed ; but the latter, after kiss- 


142 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


in g her father, could not restrain her tears, and had 
to return to her room. 

For the first time in his life, Doctor Russell 
wanted to run away. In that sick-room, he knew 
he must hear the kisses of the woman he loved, 
lavished upon the man who had sinned against 
her, but to whom those caresses lawfully belonged. 
It was a fierce battle he was fighting; and the 
splendid victory he gained over Self, gave him 
renewed encouragement to achieve other victories 
later on. With the feeling of covetousness mas- 
tered, he spoke kind words of encouragement to 
Violet. Her pitiful smile was as an arrow in his 
breast. 

For a moment Mr. Deveau recognized his wife, 
and then he sank into a slumber. The doctor ad- 
vised Violet to return to her room and get a good 
sleep. Kind Mrs. Bradley came upstairs just then 
with breakfast for them all. After Violet had 
eaten something, she retired, and Mrs. Hilliard 
and Elva watched beside her until her regular 
breathing told of forgetfulness of present trouble. 

At noon, Dr. Emery arrived and gave hope to the 
anxious ones. He said that the present stroke 
was probably a forerunner of other attacks, which 
careful living and freedom from excitement might 
avert ; and that when the end finally came, it might 
be from an entirely different cause. It was per- 
fectly safe, in his judgment, to remove the patient; 
and so, at two o’clock that afternoon, lifted by gen- 
tle hands and tenderly borne down to the convey- 
ance prepared comfortable for him, Edward De- 
veau was taken home. 

Anna Gray waited in vain for him that night. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE LOVE-QUILT. WAS POLLY EVER DADDY ? 

Neighboring farmers had kindly insisted upon 
finishing Mr. Deveau’s plowing and planting, as- 
suring him that he would be able to reap what they 
would sow. 

During several weeks following his stroke of 
apoplexy, he would sit for hours in apparently 
moody silence; but he now seemed to take an in- 
terest in things, and that, Doctor Russell said, was 
the best tonic he could take. Still, he wanted his 
wife at all times within sight, so that Violet’s only 
freedom from the sick-room came on Sundays 
when Richard Carghill, by request, spent the day 
with Mr. Deveau, who was becoming more and 
more attached to him. 

Many of Violet’s friends had called to take her 
for a drive, but all invitations had to be de- 
clined. Lately, her husband became annoyed 
whenever a carriage drove up. Was it from fear 
that Violet might leave him for an hour, to get 
the fresh air she so much needed, and that in her 
absence a beautiful serpent would glide into his 
home, secrete itself there until his wife’s return, 
and then strike her with its venomous fangs ? 

One pleasant afternoon in May, — it was Violet’s 
birthday, though her husband had forgotten it — 
143 


144 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


Mr. Deveau saw the Russell carriage coming up 
the drive, and without showing either pleasure or 
disapproval, he quietly remarked: 

“Mrs. Hilliard is waving her hand ; better have 
her come up here; — don't leave me, Vi!” 

It did not take the quick, energetic, charming 
woman long to reach the sitting room, into which 
she had the faculty of bringing a fresh breeze as 
well as sunshine. 

“How is my other brother today? How cozy 
and pleasant you are here! You both have such 
nice, white noses, too, while mine looks like a 
recently-reformed inebriate’s, from the swishing 
the wind gave it.” 

Catching sight of her own reflection in the mir- 
ror, the little beauty continued: “Was there ever 
such refractory hair as mine? It will not remain 
in place, and is fit only to fill a mattress with. May 
I arrange it a little? Harold is driving around 
with Kentucky Belle, and she is the most impa- 
tient creature! Now, Mr. Deveau, if I remain 
with you, can you not spare Violet to go for a 
short ride? I will promise not to talk if I can 
avoid it and I’ll be so good !” 

The sudden proposition brought a momentary 
flush to Violet’s cheeks, and unfortunately, the sick 
man saw it. Now here was another burden added 
to his already crushing load, — the fear that not 
only did Doctor Russell entertain too deep a feel- 
ing for Violet, (he had long ago settled upon that 
as a fact, for husbands are not as dull as some 
may think; and especially when staving off detec- 
tion of their own misconduct, are they most sus- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


145 

picious of the innocent,) but that the sentiment 
was reciprocated. 

A second glance at her face showed her gaze 
fixed intently and with loving devotion upon his 
own; while Violet herself noted with pleasure, that 
her husband’s face had more animation then, than 
had been expressed there in months. The un- 
spoken assurance that Violet was entirely his own, 
made him almost happy. He thought, “Of course 
she needs to get out into the sunshine and bracing 
air, — she must go; and as I am unable to accom- 
pany her, who is so able to take my place, as kind 
Doctor Russell?” “And who so willing ?” whis- 
pered a little imp that was immediately strangled 
by Reproach, who said: “1 reign in this man’s 
thoughts !” 

However, no inducement could be offered to 
prevail upon Violet to go; and when her next 
birthday came around, and her thoughts reverted 
to this, she was thankful that she had remained 
firm in her refusal. 

Aunt Molly had not forgotten the day, and 
when she called, shortly after Mrs. Hilliard had 
left, she presented Violet with a quaint old blue 
and white coverlet, and gave its history: 

“Nigh onter a hunderd years has slid inter eter- 
nity sence this was commenced. Gran’mother 
Smith was on’y Elva’s age then, an’ she was a set- 
tin’ at her spinnet one day when a red-headed, 
freckle-faced hobbledehoy that she thought was the 
beautifullest mortal the fairies ever made, sot 
down an’ watched her pink-tipped fingers, — fer 
they had that color fingers in them rays too, — till 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


146 

his heart got all tangled up in the warp. So when 
pity an’ beauty joined, what could she do but 
promise ter be hisn, an’ count herself lucky ter 
win sech a prize? Ef she hadn’t of? I wouldn’t 
of been here terday, an’ on’y the Lord knows 
where I would of been instid. 

“Arfter that, the pattern gran’mother follered, 
took on new beauty ter her, fer among the warp 
was twisted her lover’s heart-strings. So I knew 
you’d like the coverlet, an’ will keep it fer your 
gran’childern. I used ter keep it laid away fer 
mine, but none’s come ter claim it yit. Afore long 
I’ll see Gran’mother Smith, an’ tell her who’s got 
her old love-quilt, an’ I’m sure she will be glad as 
ef she still had it herself. Keep it ter remember 
Aunt Molly by.” 

Elva was as delighted with the gift as was her 
mother, and she exclaimed : “What could be love- 
lier for a portiere in your own blue and white 
room ! Let ” 

“Lorgeons, child, what a maskerline voice yer’ve 
got terday! — ’Scuse my interruptin’. — An’ sniffles, 
too; where ’did yer git sech a ’tackt? You must 
git yer nose greazed with tuppentine an’ lard, an' 
then yer’ll be all right. One end of my nose got 
shet up tight as a bar’ 1-head till I tried that receipt. 
I rubbed some onter Polly Adelaide, too, all down 
her bill an’ ’hind her gills, till she swore a blue 
streak at me. What be them parrots anyhow, Mr. 
Deveau? Be they birds, or devils? I’m sure I 
carn’t make out. 

“Sometimes I think mebbe they’re sperrits of 
our dead friends come back with another body on. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


147 


r 

Ef that’s so, though, the system hain’t in good 
workin’ order yit, fer it’s awful mixed. Now, 
Polly, yer know, was horned out in the middle of 
the San’widge Islands, which is quite fur off from 
here, quite fur; where they’re all bare-naked sav- 
ages ; an’ I’m sure no relation ner friends of mine 
ever b’longed ter that nation.” 

“If spirits do return, they remain unseen, and 
speak only to our hearts, Aunt Molly,” said Mr. 
Deveau. 

“Maybe I will come sometime and speak to you, 
dear,” said his wife, with a tender smile. 

“No, no ! for we will go together when we leave 
this world, — won’t we?” responded her husband. 

Aunt Molly made no comment ; but it impressed 
her as strange, that the man who, with intense fer- 
vency, had led in singing “I would not live al- 
way,” and “Heaven is my Home,” should sug- 
gest anyone’s accompanying him to that Home, — 
only boys who had done great wrong, feared to 
enter their Father’s House, alone ! 

“We interrupted you, Aunt Molly; pardon us,” 
said Violet. 

“What I was a-sayin’ don’t ’mount ter much ; I 
was on’y goin’ ter say that it don’t seem as though 
ef they do come, that sperrits would come back 
to us dressed up in green feathers an’ hooked 
noses. I’m awful glad, ’cause sometimes,” (here 
she spoke in lower tones,) — “I spose I’m a old fool 
to of thinked it; but it come ter my mind, so I 
hadter, — that mebbe” — (in still lower tone,) — 
“mebbe Polly was poor ole Daddy’s sperrit, — 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


148 

’cause,” (almost a whisper now,) — “ ’cause she 
does hate Uncle Billy so!” 

The Deveaus repressed smiles, and Edward De- 
veau said: “But her language, upon occasions, 
surely is not a reproduction of Mr. L’Homme- 
dieu’s.” # 

“No; oh, no! he never swore right out, like 
Polly; but I bet he wanted ter, more times’n you 
kin shake a stick at !” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


AT THE SWING. EYES; — MORTAL AND SPIRITUAL. 

“Yesterday was my birthday, Edward,” said 
Violet to her husband the next morning. 

“So it was ! Why did you not remind me of it ? 
I would have given you whatever you asked for, 
that was in my power. It is not too late now, 
is it?” 

“Certainly not. All I want from you is what 
you once asked of me, — a little word, ‘yes’.” 

“That you shall surely have.” 

“Thank you. I have for several summers 
wanted your consent to my trying my hand at 
what so many women make a success of, and that 
is, taking summer boarders.” 

“Why, Violet! You could not stand the strain! 
What would our friends think? Is the poorhouse 
staring us in the face ? Am I such a penurious cus- 
tomer that you must be a bread-winner ?” 

“I will answer your last question the first. You 
have never yet denied a single request I ever made 
you ; I have been careful in my selection, it is true. 
I always wanted to cater to a lot of people, and 
Elva, too, would like the experience. We do not 
agree with Doctor Russell who declares that the 
final prescription Dr. Life writes out for his pa- 
149 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


150 

tients threatened with chronic poverty, is summer 
boarders. I shall enjoy them, I know.” 

“But where will our home be, while the place 
is overrun with strangers who will leave the screen 
doors open, and sit up half the night baying to the 
moon? Where will be our nice little dinners, 
while the seats at the table are occupied by a dozen 
or less mosquito-bitten, curl-papered damsels 
whose tittering will prevent my even asking the 
blessing? If you desire such a condition to pre- 
vail, all right; we will make the experiment. I 
am getting stronger, and may be a valuable as- 
sistant. You have proved so efficient recently, that 
I believe you are capable of running the govern- 
ment.” 

A week after the above conversation took place, 
the colored girl that Mrs. Deveau had sent to 
Brooklyn for, had been put aboard the train where 
she huddled up in a corner of the seat until the 
brakeman called out : “All out for Mapleton !” 

“This yere mah gittin’-out place? This Maple- 
dun?” asked the child. 

“Sure! we stopped the train specially for you; 
better hurry,” replied the merry brakeman. 

“Gwine ter. Whar’s the man an’ horse whut’s 
cornin’ fo’ me ?” asked the dark piece of humanity, 
walking toward the door of the car, and then hesi- 
tating about leaving. 

Elva was standing on the platform waiting for 
the child, and soon had her in the wagon and 
drove off before the train had started. 

Mr. Deveau sighed as the carriage returned; 
but when the colored girl had gone into th$ 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


151 

kitchen, he followed her there and was amused 
to see her comfortably seat herself on the woodbox 
back of the stove, and peer out at him from behind 
the stove-pipe. 

“What is your name, and how old are you?” 
he asked her. 

“Mis’ Thomas tole me Ah was mos’ sixteen, 
once. Ah was nicknamed Emma, after mah 
mother.” 

The Deveaus smiled; but Emma was on the 
verge of such a bellowing as, once heard, would 
never be encored. 

“And, Papa,” said Elva, “Emma tells me she 
can cook.” 

“Yas’m, sir, Ah kin cook meat, an’ pohk, an’ 
taters, an’ all sech stuff.” 

Juliet, although pleased to have one of her own 
race as a companion, thought best to put down at 
once any attempt at bragging; so there was a 
trace of scorn in her tone as she asked : “Whar’d 
you learn to cook?” 

“Never learnt; alius knowed,” came the reply. 

“Lucky girl!” said Mrs. Deveau. “Whom did 
you ever see cook ?” 

“Mis’ Ross, an’ — an’ me!” 

“Who is Miss Ross?” Mrs. Deveau inquired. 

“Her whut mah mother guv me to, fer keeps; 
don’ yo’ know? The lady whut lives wiv Mr. 
Ross.” 

“O, his wife? Mrs . Ross, then,” said Elva. 

“Ah don’ know.” 

“Were they people you lived with ? White peo- 
ple?” asked Mr. Deveau. 


152 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Not quite; they’re yaller. Yas’m sir.” 

After supper, Emma was taken to her room in 
the attic. Juliet had placed a bunch of syringas 
and lilacs on the stand there, little thinking of the 
effect her act would produce; but it went straight 
to the heart of the lonely orphan, who, before 
creeping into bed, kept a promise made that morn- 
ing to the matron of the Colored Home, and asked 
God to make her good to her new friends. Her 
petition ended with a voluntary plea : “An’ oh 
Lawd, bress mos’es’, her whut put the posies yere, 
so Ah kin smell ’em in the dahk, oo-oo-oo ! — dahk 
night. Ah won’ take her scissors ner nuffin. No 
Lawd, Ah won’. Amen.” 

Elva and Juliet, listening on the stairs, had 
heard the prayer. “Since you have been mostest 
blessed, Juliet, you may do the searching if any- 
thing disappears; for that prayer indicates that 
there have been strange disappearances in the 
past,” said Elva. 

The next morning, Emma finished the kitchen 
work allotted to her, and in Juliet’s absence, was 
cautiously peeping from the door before starting 
for the garden, with a coal shovel in one hand, and 
the bottom and sides of her apron gathered up in 
the other. Elva appeared just in time to see that 
there was something wrong, though Emma was 
smiling with sweet innocence. 

“What were you going to do, Emma ?” 

“Oh — jes’ gwine out, ter look ’roun’.” 

“Going to take the shovel out for an airing?” 

“Lawd! Did Ah hab the shubble? How did 
Ah git it, Ah wonder!” 

“What is in your apron, Emma?” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


153 


Slowly that article was unrolled; and as a 
broken saucer came into view, Emma gazed at it 
in well-feigned consternation. Then slowly she 
raised her big, black eyes and looked at her young 
mistress; and then, with her head still hanging, 
slowly rolled those black orbs in their china-white 
setting till they rested upon Elva, who tried to 
look severe as she inquired : 

“Who broke the saucer, Emma?” 

“The c — , the cat !” and a lump as big as a kitten 
gathered in the fibber’s throat. She was afraid 
Elva would see it, so she kept her head down while 
peering out from behind her eyebrows, to see the 
effect of her made-to-order statement. 

“How did the cat do it?” asked Elva, sternly. 

“Tooked it offun the table an’ dropped it on the 
flooh!” 

“Emma,” said Elva, slowly and impressively, 
“you know that is not so. I thought you were 
going to be good and truthful. You know that a 
cat has no hands; how could it lift a saucer?” 

“She lif’ it wiv her mouf, — Ah see her, mah 
own se’f.” 

Deeper and deeper into the mire of untruthful- 
ness was Emma plunging. Would she be able to 
extricate herself? 

“What were you going to do with the saucer, 
child?” 

“Ah — Ah was gwine ter bury it, so’s — so’s you 
wouldn’ lick the cat!” 

“You are a” — Elva hesitated; the word she 
wanted to employ was too severe, she feared. 
“You little unfledged authoress ! you believe in tell- 
ing a good one while you are about it.” 


154 DADDY’S WIDOW 

“Yas’m,” responded the culprit, smiling like a 
cherub. 

“Come along; I will go with you to the burial, 
and when that ceremony is ended, you may shell 
the peas for dinner.” 

“ Yas’m,” again responded Emma, following her 
young mistress to the garden. 

Being compelled to have a witness to what she 
had planned to do in utmost secrecy, was a lesson 
that penetrated Emma’s thick skull; and rarely, 
after that, were her inventive powers called upon 
to fabulize where truth was required. 

July and summer boarders made their advent 
together at Hillcrest this year. On the broad 
veranda, just before supper was announced, sat 
several persons to whom an introduction is in 
order. First, from Brooklyn, Miss Penelope 
Carghill, a maiden lady on the shady side of forty. 
Beside her was her big, bulky brother, (whom we 
already know of) one of the best-hearted bachelors 
this earth ever held. 

By Mr. Carghill’s side stood little Corilla, his 
only brother’s orphan child, a beautiful creature 
whom her uncle idolized, and who knew no moth- 
erly caresses except such as her Aunt Penelope 
lovingly gave. 

By one of the pillars, Mrs. Chester, a widow, 
with her daughter Natalie beside her, endeavored 
to pose most becomingly. 

Coming up the path, briskly walked near-sighted 
little Mr. Harper, a theological student and an ad- 
mirer of Amazonian girls, two of whom arose as 
he reached the steps, and asked in unison: “Any 
letters for me?” their white hands outstretched 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


155 

and fluttering in anticipation. One letter at a 
time was drawn, deliberately, from Mr. Harper’s 
pocket, and passed very close to his eyes, that he 
might be sure of its superscription before handing 
it to its rightful owner. 

In the dining-room, Juliet was busy filling 
glasses with water, and goblets with creamy milk; 
for this was no skimmed-milk boarding house. 

Elva, placing upon the table a platter of cottage 
cheese made into little balls nestling upon lettuce 
leaves, said : “All is ready now, Juliet ; and if you 
will get the gong and sound the alarm, the war- 
dance may begin ; and as soon as Mr. Harper says 
grace, I will bring in the tea.” 

The gong which Elva referred to, was one that 
Mr. Deveau had purchased from a Shinnecock 
Indian who lived on the reservation on the south 
side of Long Island. It was of copper, and, when 
hit by a metal mallet, could be heard a long dis- 
tance. Its weird, sonorous tone was not unmusi- 
cal ; but the first time Emma heard it, she dropped 
the pan of milk she was carrying, and ran and hid 
in the hen-roost. 

The praise given, especially that evening, to Mrs. 
Deveau and Elva for their culinary achievements, 
was unstinted; and when they were alone, after- 
ward, Elva said to her mother: “It only proves 
that the general impression among strangers is that 
Long Island produces nothing but white beans and 
lean pork. If statistics were gathered they would 
show that we Long Islanders raise better food, in 
greater variety; and our tables are better supplied 
than are those of many city epicures who, though 
they live in better houses and keep their persons 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


156 

faultlessly attired, yet practically live from-hand- 
to-mouth; while we, less gorgeously arrayed, pre- 
fer a from-garden-to-table method. Give me a 
whole-souled, well-fed, open-hearted Long Is- 
lander in preference to any other man or woman.” 

The mother smiled. “I forgot for the mo- 
ment,” she said teasingly, “that Brooklyn is on 
Long Island.” 

As the weeks went by, Emma proved herself 
quite a treasure. That her lesson in truth-telling 
had not been entirely forgotten, was evidenced by 
her saying one day when she thought no one would 
hear her talking to the cat: “Did you break that 
saucer, or didn’ yer? Tell the trufe, now!” 

Emma’s chief delight was to watch Corilla, 
whose pretty clothes made her an object of adora- 
tion to the colored child. One day Corilla spoke 
to her, and Emma then felt as though she had 
heard an angel’s voice. 

After a slight acquaintance, both children went 
to the swing every afternoon during Emma’s play 
hour, and sometimes Corilla permitted her to hold 
her doll. Emma would giggle and make such 
comical faces at the wax-headed infant, that Co- 
rilla wanted her uncle to enjoy the funny sight. 

Mr. Carghill started to go to the swing and 
watch the children, one afternoon, but got only as 
far as the walnut tree, beneath which, upon a rus- 
tic seat, Elva sat stringing currants. Accepting 
a seat beside her, he offered his assistance. 

“No, no, Mr. Carghill, you would soil your 
hands !” Elva exclaimed. 

“But they are guaranteed to wash,- and I am 


DADDY’S WIDOW 157 

sure they will neither shrink nor fade,” Mr. Carg- 
hill responded. 

“But the juice might spatter upon your clothing, 
which would surely shrink if washed; and I doubt 
if a temporary loan from Mr. Harper’s wardrobe 
would benefit you.” 

The children’s chatter now attracted their at- 
tention, and they heard Emma ask Corilla: “Are 
you er orphum?” 

“No, indeed!” came Corilla’s quick reply, for 
the term was new to her. 

“Is yuh aunt yuh mother?” 

“No; Mama is dead, and Papa is dead; and 
I live with Uncle Richard and Aunt Penelope.” 

“Oh, that so? Fought yo’ was er orphum; 
Ah’m one. Mah mother’s dead; an’ mah father, 
he — he died foh mah mother was borned, Ah 
think. Mis’ Ross said so, anyhow.” 

“Who is Miss Ross ?” 

“She’s mah mother’s sister, couhse.” 

“Is she a relation of yours?” 

“Yep; don’ you see how it is? Her an’ mah 
mother went ter school tergether, an’ that got ’em 
sisters.” 

“O-o-o! I see! but didn’t you have a father, 
never V 9 

“Nope — didn’ want none. Whut’d AH do wiv 
him ov Ah had him?” 

“Who took care of you when you were sick ?” 

“Didn’ git sick, ah tell yo’! Mah mother 
fought er awful lot of me.” 

“How do you know?” 

“’Cause, when she come ter see Mis’ Ross, ov 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


158 

Ah was down suller shubblin’ up coal, she’d say, 
‘Whar’s Emma’ ?” 

“Did you love her very much ?” 

“Not a cent’s wuf !” 

“Didn’t love your mother?” Corilla was hor- 
rified. 

“Nope; never loved nobody. Ah want ter be 
yaller ; don’ like keep on bein’ brack.” 

“But God made you that color.” 

“Didn’ ; didn’ not!” 

“Why, don’t you know He did ? Aunt Penelope 
says He made everybody; and she knows; for she 
is a Christian Sciencess !” 

“Whut’s a ‘Chrismus Shyersin’? Kin it bite?” 

“Why, don’t you know that, either? It’s a re- 
ligion that tells you things aren’t so, when they 
are.” 

“Ah know now — Ah used ter do that, too; but 
Ah try ter be good, now !” 

“I don’t think you ever were a Sciencess, — only 
very good people are.” 

“Deed Ah was ; an’ Ah was awful bad ; an’ Mis’ 
Ross said so, too, now !” 

“Did she punish you?” 

“Nope, ’cause the doctor said they must be 
cahful ov they wanted ter raise me.” 

“They did raise you, you see.” 

“Ah raised mahse’f. Sometimes Ah have buff- 
days ” 

“So do I; isn’t it nice? When does yours 
come?” 

“Ev’y once in a while.” 

“And do you have a party?” 

“Nope, better’n ’at; Ah have a picnic. Mr. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


*59 


Ross takes me. He took me fishin’ once. Ah had 
a lovely time, — sick to mah stommuck all day. 
Hush! Listen! that yaller nigger’s gwine ter 
yawp !” 

Emma would have had to pay well for that re- 
mark had Juliet heard it as she came out of the 
kitchen and called : “Emma, it is time to start the 
fire for tea!” 

“Mercy, how slow you are, Mr. Carghill, not 
to have finished the currants! I could have done 
them alone in twice the time,” said Elva, as Mr. 
Carghill was stringing the last bunch. Then she 
picked up the large, shining pan nearly full of cur- 
rants; and Mr. Carghill followed with the pail 
that held the stems. 

The currants were no brighter red than were 
Elva’s pretty lips; and Richard Carghill mentally 
declared, for the hundredth time, that in no other 
young woman was there to be found such a union 
of beauty, industry and common sense, as were 
combined in Elva Deveau. 

When she turned around to address him, her 
sparkling black eyes met his blue ones, without 
any affectatious droopings such as some young 
ladies employed in their glances when trying to 
captivate the wealthy bachelor. How fortunate 
for him that Mrs. Deveau had decided to take 
boarders ! 

While such thoughts were still in his mind, he 
remarked to Elva: “Whenever there are currants 
to shell, permit me to help you, little girl,” not 
realizing his mistake until Elva responded: 
“Thank you; will the offer hold good when there 
are peas to string?” 


160 DADDY’S WIDOW 

Until the past week Elva had seemed but a child 
to him; and where until now he had regarded her 
with masterful superiority, the strange, quivering, 
pleasurable sensation her presence now inspired, f 
announced that the child lived but in the woman, 
to whom he must yield the homage that true man- 
hood proudly pays to womanhood divine. 

He hardly dared hope that she, so bright, pure 
and beautiful, had experienced for him a quicken- 
ing of her heart-throbs. Would she ever do so? 

What a changed man he was since he had gone 
to that bench under the tree, and been told he must 
use no force with the innocent, red currants, or 
they would collapse, while their heart, drawn from 
them, would cling to the stem. At the moment 
Elva told him that, she had been drawing his heart 
from him. It was hers now ; would she give him 
her own in exchange? 

In ignorance of what she had unconsciously 
done, Elva went into the kitchen, while Mr. Carg- 
hill and his little niece passed on to join Miss 

Carghill. 

Elva could hardly wait until her former assistant 
was out of hearing, before exclaiming softly to her 
mother : “Mama, what do you suppose Miss Carg- 
hill is, but a Christian Scientist ! What will Papa 
say! You know how he dislikes that belief!” 

“Do not let that trouble you; the lady is under 
his roof, and your father will never forget that 
he is a gentleman. But both Papa and Miss Carg- 
hill must be set on a shelf, figuratively speaking, 
while I attend to this salad. Isn’t that cocoanut 
cake a beauty? Our boarders cannot complain of 
the table, can they ?” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


161 


“Come yere, Julyut; tickuttle’s bilin’ his head 
off!” exclaimed Emma, as she watched the steam 
force the kettle’s lid up. Then she said to Mrs. 
Deveau : “Ah played wiv the little girl today agin ; 
yas’m ; Ah played wiv little Gorilla !” 

At supper, when Mr. Harper was helped to some 
of the delicious cocoanut cake, he bent his face 
down to look at it ; Emma, standing almost behind 
his chair, said, confidentially: “Yum, yum! smells 
good, — ain’t it?” 


“Any chores to give a poor man this morning, 
ma’am?” asked Mr. Carghill, standing outside the 
screen door. 

“Come in, poor man, and I’ll find something to 
keep you out of mischief, at least,” replied Elva. 
“What can you do ?” 

Mr. Carghill was tempted to take the girl’s 
sweet face between his hands and demonstrate 
what he would like to do; but he refrained and 
only said: “I can look into your beautiful eyes, 
though I cannot fathom what lies in your 
thoughts.” 

“For a tramp begging for work, you are rather 
bold; but really, Mr. Carghill, you must be a 
treasure to your sister, you are so willing to help 
in domestic affairs.” 

“To be frank, I must admit, Elva, that at home 
I am not a help, for we have no fresh vegetables 
from the garden; and were I to venture into the 
kitchen and even inspect what the grocer brings 
us, Irish Rosie would raise her hands in holy 
horror.” 

“What a shame to be so undervalued! Mr. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


162 

Harper is so different from you; yet really he 
should practice domestication, for it will surely 
fall upon him. How I pity women who marry 
Methodist ministers! 

“We had a young clergyman sent here on proba- 
tion; but he didn’t probe satisfactorily, so Confer- 
ence sent him to a charge out among the Jersey 
mosquitoes. As soon as permanently located, he 
married; and now, in order to meet expenses, his 
wife runs a sewing machine, with one foot, while 
she rocks the twins in their cradle, with the other. 

“Here comes Mama; just notice how the roses 
are beginning to bloom on her cheeks! Isn’t she 
lovely ?” 

“Perfectly. Did I awaken you last night, Mrs. 
Deveau,” asked Mr. Carghill, “when I came down 
upon the veranda? The boil on my neck pained 
me so I could not sleep.” 

“I did not hear you, Mr. Carghill,” Violet re- 
plied. 

“I asked my sister to look at my neck this morn- 
ing, but she insists that there is no boil there. She 
is a Scientist, and will admit nothing that causes 
pain, nor pain itself.” 

“Let me see it, Mr. Carghill ; I am quite a ‘medi- 
cine woman,’ they tell me, and I may be able to 
help you.” 

Violet stood on her tip-toes, as Mr. Carghill 
could not bend his neck, and looked at the boil. 
No wonder it pained him! And in such an incon- 
venient place, too! 

“That must be poulticed. I will fix some white 
Castile soap and sugar for it. Had Job’s mother 
made such a poultice for him, we would not have 


DADDY’S WIDOW 163 

heard so much about his patience, for he would 
not have had an opportunity to exercise it.” 

“Yere comes Miss Coggle an’ Gorilla! Look! 
They’re shakin’ their hands to yo’, Miss Elba. 
They want yo’,” announced Emma, excitedly. 

Elva joined Miss Carghill, while Mrs. Deveau 
corrected Emma. 

“Miss Gorilla, you mean, Emma.” 

“That’s whut Ah call her, on’y Ah don’ say 
Miss.” 

“But you must; I know you want to be polite.” 

“Yas’m. Mis’ Ross was pohlite; but she didn’ 
say Miss ter me!” said Emma, in a tone of one 
who had been deprived of what was due her. 

“Mrs. Deveau,” said Mr. Carghill, “please do 
not mention my affliction to my sister, as it would 
cause controversy; and I want to keep her nerves 
quiet so that she may sooner regain her health. Her 
embracing Christian Science has been a great trial 
to me. There! from her gestures, I believe she is 
now expatiating upon the beauties of her belief, 
and the benefits derived from its practice.” 

“She will not convert my child, I assure you,” 
said Mrs. Deveau; “you do not know the Deveaus 
if you think they can be easily turned.” 

“My dear Mrs. Deveau, some of the finest 
minds I ever met, are enrolled under the Christian 
Science banner. I cannot understand why. To 
me, it is the acme of absurdity. I would like to 
hear Elva’s comments.” 

“They would certainly be original and to the 
point,” said Elva’s mother. “I will have the oint- 
ment ready right after supper, Mr. Carghill, and 


164 DADDY’S WIDOW 

your sister need know nothing about it,” said Mrs. 
Deveau. 

“Thank you. I dislike to trouble you, and I 
also desire to refrain from getting my sister into 
the nervous condition that follows her giving me 
what she terms a ‘treatment’.” 

Miss Carghill stood in the doorway! 

Trying to look sternly at her brother, she said: 
“Richard, oblige me by discontinuing your conver- 
sation upon the present subject, until I have an 
opportunity of talking with Mrs. Deveau and you 
together. Perhaps, after dinner, both ladies will 
join us in my room, where we will be free from 
interruption.” 

“We are expecting our friend, Mrs. L’Homme- 
dieu, here this afternoon, Miss Carghill; but to- 
morrow we will be pleased to be your guests for 
awhile,” said Violet. 

It was two weeks since Aunt Molly had been to 
Violet’s, — a long time for the old lady to have re- 
mained away. But a great-niece of Daddy’s had 
been ill, and Aunt Molly had kept to her post at the 
bedside of “Tryfhenie’s Thirzie Ann ” until the 
latter was able to be around again. 


CHAPTER XV. 

AUNT MOLLY RECALLS “MRS. JARLEY's WAX- 
WORKS.” 

Soon after dinner, Aunt Molly's light, quick 
step was heard coming up the path, and Elva has- 
tened to the door to meet her. Scarcely was she 
seated in the sitting room, before she began : 

“Alius got room fer Aunt Molly, even ef yer be 
over-run with boarders ! An' not a fly ter be seen ! 
You beat the Dutch fer keepin' clean! Now, Try- 
phenie’s Thirzie Ann, that I’ve jest been stoppin' 
with fer a spell, poor child, is awful pertickler/bout 
her cookery an' herself. But when it comes ter 
plain housekeeping she jest don't care. Tryphenie 
was like wax ; but her Thirzie Ann took ter house- 
work like some folks does ter religion, — in a sorter 
luke-hearted, slop-shod way. 

“I want ev'rything in order in my house, so's ef 
it gits afire, I won't pick up what I think is my 
bank-book an' run out doors a-wrappin' it up as I 
run a-shoutin' TIRE!' an' arfter the blaze is out 
an' I take time ter look at what I'm a-huggin', I 
won't find my bank-book was on'y a clothes-pin ! 

“That's what Thirzie Ann done jest afore she 
took sick. Poor critter; I didn't oughter com- 
plain of her, 'cause she's so cut up with losin' her 
baby. She takes the little blankut she worked 
rosebuds an' fer-git-me-nots on, — you know, when 
she was expectin' the baby; an' the little pink an* 
white socks she crocheted, an' she'll set harf a 

165 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


1 66 

hour, jes’ a-holdin’ ’em an’ a-turnin’ ’em ’round, 
with them lovin’est of touches, that on’y a mother 
who knows they’ll never be worn agin’, kin give! 

“Well, how yer all been ? An’ this girl of mine, 
— she well, too?” 

All this time Aunt Molly had been rolling up 
her gloves, straightening out a flower-stem here 
and there on her hat, as she held it, not noticing 
that Elva was standing, waiting to relieve her of 
it; and then examining the hem of her “alpacky” 
skirt to see whether any dust had settled in it 
since she left home. 

“We are all well here, Aunt Molly, thank you. 
We have thirteen in family now, you know,” re- 
plied Violet. 

“Any on ’em twins? I ’spect when it comes 
feedin’ time, ye’re glad they’ve got on’y one stum- 
muck apiece.” \ 

It was with difficulty that Aunt Molly was per- 
suaded to remain to supper; when finally she con- 
sented, it was on the condition that she be placed 
between Mr. Carghill and his sister at the table. 

“Then I’ll be more hidden from them what’ll be 
starin’ ter see ef I eat soup with a fork, er stir my 
tea with a knife han’le; ’cause I know what sum- 
mer boarders is; my mother used tfer keep ’em, 
poor critter, an’ the less they have ter home, the 
more airs they put on when they’re inter some- 
buddy else’s home. I know ’em, from knuckle ter 
thumb !” 

Supper had but commenced when Aunt Molly 
noticed that there seemed to be something wrong 
with Mr. Carghill’s neck, and she at once inquired 
what the trouble was. 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


167 

“Only a form of punishment sent me for some 
wicked deed I’ve committed, I presume,” said Mr. 
Carghill. 

“I doubt the ‘wicked' part; but we all do git our 
punishment here on earth, I b’lieve ; an’ sometimes 
we ketch what oughter go ter some other feller. I 
carn’t reason out why, — kin you, Mr. Harper ?” 

From pale to crimson, the prospective dominie „ 
turned; and then hid his views behind the quota- 
tion, “God moves in a mysterious way, His won- 
ders to perform," and felt intensely satisfied with 
himself for having displayed still further to the 
young ladies beside him, his familiarity with 
poetry. 

Not even the loquacious Mrs. Chester ventured 
an opinion, for all wanted to hear the old lady's 
own views, and they did not have her there every 
day. Her aversion to summer boarders was rapid- 
ly. melting away, and as though in atonement for 
her recently expressed opinions to Violet, she 
seemed determined to do her best to entertain the 
company. 

“When I went ter school, I marstered the three 
Rs; but the fourth, R-eligion, I escaped. As the 
years crept stiddily by, Time became my teacher; 
an' the hardest lesson it give me, an' I haint 
learnt it all yit, was ter love my feller-woman — 
the men kin take care of themselves. 

“It puzzles me ter think 'bout all the diffrunt re- 
ligions a-bangin’ away an' tryin' ter kill each 
other, an' each expectin' ter be the on’y one ter git 
let inter heaven when the fightin' is done! Why, 
the Methodists refused ter let the Universalist 
children parade with their'n in the annual May- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


1 68 

walk, in Brooklyn! Fact ! ’Cause Tryphenie’s 
Thirzie Ann’s husband’s sister’s step-daughter was 
there, — a nice little thing, but the Methodist breth- 
ering didn’t care how nice none of ’em was; ’twas 
on’y their own sect could walk with them in the 
streets of this world. But the Great Cap’n knows 
who’ll walk the Golden Streets! 

“I’m puzzled ter know which is wuss, — a narrer 
saint, or a wide sinner. Why, the on’y thing the 
Methodists is got agin the Universalists is that 
they believe God will save all people, an’ the Meth- 
odists want ’em ter not b’lieve that, but ter b’lieve 
they’re goin’ ter be damned fer not b’lievin’ they’ve 
got ter b’lieve that more’n harf the world is a-goin’ 
ter — you know! Why! they act wusser’n heath- 
ens! 

“Now, ef you was ter have a baby, Mr. Harper, 
an’ it died afore you could git it christened, the 
Prisberterians would tell yer it had gone straight 
ter — you know ; poor little thing ! 

“Now I’ve never been christened, as I know of, 
— an’ yit not a soul of you here would see old Aunt 
Molly sent ter — you know, ter hell; now would 
yer ?” 

A chorus of “No, no! Never!” 

“Well, then, ef you are Prisberterians, you must 
think yourselves better-hearted than the Almighty ! 
I’d be afeerd ter b’lieve sech a doctorin’ ! 

“An’ that’s the way they disagree an’ keep on 
fightin’, each sect foolin’ ’emselves by b’lievin’ on’y 
they will git to heaven. Mebbe their own mothers 
chose a diff’runt faith; what then? Damned, of 
course. Where does the Christian sperit come in ? 
Did any of yer ever taste sech custard afore? 


DADDY’S WIDOW 169 

There’s the girl that’s guilty of makin’ it. Elva, 
you’re a horned cook, you be !” 

“Sorry to hear that, Aunt Molly,” answered 
Elva. “I had hoped that I was not yet in the 
sphere Nature intended me to be, and that later 
I would come into my own. I dislike to believe 
that no better days are in store for me, than to be 
singeing my eyebrows, blistering my arms, and 
playing with the rolling-pin. I hoped you thought 
I was born to be somebody, instead of 'Elva, the 
cook’ ! 

“But, Aunt Molly, Brother Bradley, whom you 
certainly admire, is a Methodist.” 

“I know ; an’ I’m awful sorry fer him ! 

“Well, I’ve enjoyed this supper immensely; — 
hope I haint talked none of yer ter death, — yer all 
look able ter set up an’ take notice yit. An’ I hope 
you haint nuther a Prisberterian ner a Methodist, 
Mr. Harper, fur I did hit ’em both ruther hard.” 

“No, madam ; I am a Baptist.” 

“Good ’nough! Baptists I’ve knowed haint 
quite sech fakirs as some of t’other two.” 

After supper, the boarders showed their appre- 
ciation of Aunt Molly, by foregoing their custo- 
mary evening walks, and seating themselves near 
her to enjoy the original remarks for which she 
was well known. Her fertile brain never lacked a 
subject for conversation; and the rapidity with 
which she turned from one subject to another to- 
tally different, made her still more entertaining for 
a woman of her years. 

Looking around her at the company, she said: 
“So many of us here in one bunch, ’minds me of a 
play I see once. It was called 'Mrs. Jolly’s Wax- 


170 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


wux.’ They warn’t the real folks, yer know, but 
make-b’lieves. There was Adelaide Patti, who 
sings so sweet that the birds all keep still an’ listen 
to her. An’ Susan Antony, who b’lieved in wo- 
men havin’ a voice er two in the makin’ of laws 
that pull money outer their pockets, stidder lettin’ 
men alone set in great bodies an’ decide that wo- 
men shill pay taxes, but not vote! Our forefath- 
ers fit ter rid ’emselves of jes’ that same state of 
affairs; an’ I’d of honored our for smothers better 
ef they had looked ahead a little fer the sake of 
posterity ter come. But mebbe they figgered that 
what a woman would make by runnin’ to the polls, 
she’d lose by not bein’ home ter watch her butcher 
an’ grocer bills. 

“Then there was that French king who alius re- 
minds me of a gander, by his figger, an’ that 
treated his wife so bad. Why couldn’t he of 
adopted some poor little waif an’ called it hisn? 
Why need he of said he must part from Josephina 
’cause the umpire needed an heir, an’ it must be a 
Bonypart! I’m glad he hadter live alone at last. 
I bet he wished he had Josephina with him on that 
island! She might of soothed him then, fer she 
loved him so. I’d of soothed him — with a club! 

“Then there was George Washington. His 
white wig come off that night, an’ there he stood, a 
black-headed man! Ah, ef the wigs that covers 
our hearts should fall off some day, we’d squeal 
like stuck pigs ter git under cover, an’ hid away 
from them we’ve fooled so long! 

“That was a great play. Daddy took me to it. 
He larfed till tears run down his face an’ spattered 
up his shirt buzzum. They fell as big as coocum- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 171 

bers when his niece Tryphenie come onter the stage, 
an’ the man what showed the figgers off said she 
was Queen of England. Daddy bust right out : ‘A 
Long Island Yankee gal ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! An’ Queen 
of England! He! he! he! 0-0 MY!’ 

“That sot ev’rybuddy a-roarin’, an’ I told him 
ef he didn’t behave himself, folks’d think he was 
a clown got loose out of a circus. He shet up 
then, ’cause he was proud, Daddy was!” 

Then Aunt Molly told more stories in which 
Daddy was one of the chief figures. It pleases us 
all, sometimes, to talk of those whom we have 
loved and who have left us for a little while, know- 
ing that though we soon must pass through the 
same dark valley that they encountered, at the 
other end of it they will take our trembling hands 
and tenderly lead us into the shining glory of that 
World in which we each have a heritage. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


AT THE WELL. “R0NK0NK0MA.” EMMA’S DEFINI- 
TION. 

There was no fear of interruption, for Natalie 
Chester had gone with Mr. Deveau to the village; 
Mrs. Chester was dozing in a hammock in the cool 
shade of the silver-leafed maples; and the young 
ladies were on the river with their delighted es- 
cort, little Dominie Harper, upon whom 
they beamed and gushed, to their own intense 
amusement, until he believed that heaven itself 
could hold no greater bliss than he enjoyed in the 
presence of these immense, angelic ( ?) creatures ! 

When her callers were seated, Miss Carghill 
opened conversation: “Ladies,” she said, “as my 
brother has informed you, I am a Christian Scien- 
tist; and my religion forbids my acknowledging 
so-called illness in any form. What my brother 
calls a boil, upon his neck, does not exist, except in 
his mortal mind, and” — 

“Pardon me, Penelope; but I have painful evi- 
dence that it exists upon my neck,” interrupted 
Richard Carghill. 

“And that idea is error. Your spiritual mind 
knows nothing of any boil; and if you will but 
deny its existence, it will disappear.” 

“Sister, what will disappear? The boiled error 
that is not there? The non-existing, aching, pa- 
tience-destroying Vesuvius that has located at the 
1 72 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


173 

base of my brain where it disrupts every charitable 
and kind thought?” asked the brother. 

“If you would only believe , Richard, you would 
experience no pain; there is no such thing as pain; 
deny its existence and it will disappear.” 

“Surely, Miss Carghill,” said Violet, “you can- 
not even to yourself deny what your eyes so plain- 
ly see.” 

“I may see something with my mortal eye, not 
visible to my spiritual eye.” 

“Kindly tell the ladies which the spiritual one 
is; — just wink it at us,” suggested Mr. Carghill. 

Ignoring her brother’s remark, Miss Carghill 
resumed : “Christian Science is founded on com- 
mon sense. And little Corilla here, understands 
me far better than her big uncle does. You would 
never say you had a boil, would you, darling?” 

“No, Auntie; I would say, There’s no boil there! 
There’s no boil there!’ And that would drive it 
all away,” replied the young disciple. 

“Bless the dear child! She is a true Scientist; 
and I hope some day to present her as a second 
Mrs. Eddy!” exclaimed Miss Carghill, proudly. 

The pain he was enduring was becoming so in- 
tense, that Richard Carghill spoke very decidedly: 
“I have reached a point where I shall use my own 
judgment. Tonight a poultice goes on my neck. 
If there is no boil there,” — he smiled — “the poul- 
tice will simply act as a complexion beautifier, and 
no harm will be done.” 

“One more treatment let me give you first 
Brother,” pleaded the sister; “and if I fail, you 
may poultice from head to foot, and I will not de- 


174 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


mur. Now, Elva, I ask you, where could a boil 
come from?” 

“From impure blood, possibly,” came the quick 
reply. 

“O, no; for man was made in God’s image, 
which can have nothing impure about it. The 
Bible tells us so.” 

“But, Miss Carghill, the fact is also stated that 
man did not remain pure and God-like ; he ate for- 
bidden fruit, and sorrow and sickness followed,” 
said Violet. 

“And, my sister, another quotation from the 
Good Book is : ‘So went Satan forth from the pres- 
ence of the Lord and smote Job with boils from the 
sole of his feet unto his crown.’ I am a greater 
believer than you, for I believe both your quota- 
tion and my own.” 

“Job was a mortal, and subject to mortal ills and 
errors, as long as he permitted himself to be domi- 
nated by mortal mind.” 

“Then you admit Job’s boils, but refuse to con- 
sider mine; is that just, Penelope?” asked Mr. 
Carghill, with a twinkle in his mortal eyes. 

“I do admit that if your mortal eye looks at 
what your mortal mind believes to be a boil, it 
may see a protuberance; but viewed spiritually, 
there is nothing to be seen. 

“In Science there is no pain, no blemish; deny 
its existence, and you are free from it!” declared 
Miss Carghill, wishing that her statement might 
be accepted without corroborative evidence being 
desired. “Some time when you ladies have leisure, 
I will loan you my little black book, more precious 
to me than gold ; and then you can read for your- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


175 


selves, of the beauty of our belief, as our dear 
leader has expounded it. When you have care- 
fully read the treasured volume through, you will 
marvel that anyone can disbelieve its teachings.” 

“I shall enjoy reading the book, I am sure; but 
I must acknowledge that as I now see,” — 

“Pardon me, Mrs. Deveau,” interrupted Miss 
Carghill, “with mortal eyes.” 

“With the only eyes I have, — it seems the most 
consummate folly to deny facts!” 

“But you are not to regard them as facts, — 
they are but fancies, — creations of a mortal brain 
over which the spiritual should reign supreme.” 

“Why were mortal brains and mortal eyes given 
to us mortals, Miss Carghill, if not to use?” asked 
Elva. “Why did we need two sets, mortal and 
spiritual, when spiritual alone would have an- 
swered ?” 

“We are not to question our Creator’s wisdom, 
child; enough if we do His will as we understand 
His desires. All earthly imperfections are results 
of improper thoughts. We all were originally 
created perfect.” 

“Dare we claim that the poor, club-footed dwarf 
we saw yesterday was created in God’s image?” 
asked Violet. 

“N-no; his deformity is the result of a strong 
thought sent out by his mother or some other per- 
son; and that thought, having fallen upon the un- 
born child, he has to bear it through this life; 
which goes to prove that we should allow only the 
pure and beautiful ever to enter our minds,” re- 
plied Miss Carghill. “Our thoughts are silent 
words, that, once sent out from us, float along 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


176 

upon ethereal ripples until they come in contact 
with similar thoughts journeying like themselves; 
then, uniting forces, they enter the circles of some 
other person’s thought, and finally settle upon that 
person.” 

“The little rascals should be exterminated ; they 
are mind-microbes,” announced Mr. Carghill. 

“My dear friends,” continued Miss Carghill, 
“Christian Science is but the brighter term for 
common sense.” 

“I must confess,” said Violet, “that with what 
common sense God has endowed me, I would per- 
jure myself if I denied there is a boil, and a bad 
one, too, upon your brother’s neck; and I further 
believe I would be lacking in Christian practice, 
were I to allow him to suffer, when I can relieve 
him. 

“Like yourself, Miss Carghill, I never shirk a 
duty; and so, if Mr. Carghill wishes it, I will have 
a poultice ready for him this evening. I feel guilty 
that I omitted it last evening.” 

“And I will give him another treatment, 
stronger than the last. Oh, my brother! why do 
you hinder me so, by lacking faith?” 

“Penelope, when a man is suffering as I am, were 
another man to say there is nothing the matter 
with my neck, I would wring his. But for my 
poor, dear sister, though I cannot bow my head, I 
pray that she may soon see the folly of the Chris- 
tian Science bubble, and have restored to her what 
all admired in our sainted mother , — common 
sense!” 

“Mis’ Dewoo an’ Miss Elba, kirredge at the 
dooh, an’ a bu’ful lady, — white lady, yas’m, says 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


1 77 


she wants Mistah Dewoo. An’ he ain’t yere ; shill 
Ah git him fo’ her?” called Emma, whose voice 
came through the keyhole beside which her nose 
was pressed, and where occasionally her ear had 
been. 

“We will be right down, Emma,” answered 
Mrs. Deveau. “While we cannot, Miss Carghill, 
all see alike, we cart strive to do our best; and a 
difference in belief will not, I trust, interfere with 
our friendship.” 

“It shall not, Mrs. Deveau. I appreciate too 
highly your sincerity and kindness of heart, to ever 
do or say anything to disrupt the good-will that 
unites us, and which I hope time will strengthen.” 

Elva said nothing; she was intent upon think- 
ing how pale Richard Carghill’s suffering had 
made him. 

As the ladies were descending the stairs, Emma, 
letting the screen door slam behind her, came run- 
ning in from the piazza, and said quickly: “Go 
back! She’s gone. Ah tole her Miss Dewoo was 
cornin’, an’ she licked up her nag an’ skedaddled. 
She was ’fraid ub yo’. Hi ! she didn’ git yuh hus- 
bun’, either. Ah wouldn’ let her!” 

This incident was soon forgotten, for the kitchen 
clock gave notice that the call upon Miss Carghill 
had been longer than was intended, and there were 
duties requiring immediate attention. 

“I will attend to getting supper, Mama, if you 
will prepare the poultice for our ‘Job’ upstairs,” 
said Elva, nervously ; then fragments of her 
thoughts found expression: 

“Christian Science;” “blow to smithereens;” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


178 

“Papa was right;” “Christian humbug!” — were 
indistinctly uttered. 

Violet looked at her in astonishment. 

“I cannot help it, Mama ; I never felt so wicked 
before in all my life! At one time I wanted to 
take Miss Carghill and shake her till every bone in 
her body creaked, and then say, ‘There are no 
bones there! Only your mortal sense feels any/ 
Then I would set her down, none too tenderly, and 
with her false teeth rattling and her top-knot 
tumbling, I’d blandly ask, ‘In whose image were 
you made? Did your mother’s wrong thought do 
this?’ Then”— 

“Stop, my dear child ! That is wicked. I never 
heard you talk so wildly before!” exclaimed the 
mother. 

“And to think of her declaring that she had a 
variety of eyes ! And that poor man has to listen 
to such trash!” 

Fortunately, Emma came upon the scene, which 
prevented further unusual display of angry feel- 
ings. 

While Violet scraped the white Castile soap 
now brown with age, mixed it with sugar, and 
then spread it upon a piece of linen ready to apply 
to Mr. Carghill’s neck, Emma watched intently, 
and asked Elya if that’ were the way other folks 
made cheese. 

“No, child ; this is the Christian Science we use 
to cure a mortal affliction,” replied Elva, thought- 
lessly; then realizing that to modify her statement 
would more certainly impress it upon the girl, she 
let it pass. 

When supper was all but ready, Elva went to 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


179 

the well for a pail of sparkling, fresh water. Sud- 
denly, a pair of strong hands grasped the rope, and 
a pair of sunny, blue eyes looked tenderly into her 
own. 

“I did not see you pass the door, Mr. Carghill; 
did you step from your window and slide down 
the apple tree?” 

“I scarcely know how I reached here, Elva, for 
my mind has been upon an argument just held with 
my kind-hearted sister, who declares she will fast, 
while giving me a treatment, which, as I am so 
obdurate, will take her half the night; and that in 
the morning, the boil which does not exist , will 
have vanished. I begged her to forego her in- 
cantations ; but she is immovable. 

“Then, as I looked from my window,” — he low- 
ered his voice — “I saw two bright stars,” — 

“Stars? and before sunset? How your neck 
must have pained you !” 

Mr. Carghill smiled; — “and two roses, real 
American beauties,” — 

“Surely, you must consult an oculist; no one 
with normal sight can see in opposite directions at 
the same time. You know all our roses are at 
the other side of the house.” 

“Elva, Elva! such levity when I am suffer- 
ing?” said Mr. Carghill. 

“Mama has the poultice made, and I am sure it 
will relieve you, Mr. Carghill.” 

“Elva,” called Violet, without looking toward 
the well, “does the bucket leak? Please hurry! 
Papa is home, and supper is waiting.” 

As Elva stepped into view, and her mother saw 


180 DADDY’S WIDOW 

Mr. Carghill walking beside her and carrying the 
pail of water, her thoughts flew rapidly. 

“Losing patience with Miss Carghill would not 
alone have caused such an outbreak of temper as 
Elva displayed. Mother’s poor, little girlie ! How 
far is Richard Carghill responsible for this change 
in you !” she mused. 

After supper, at which meal good-hearted, self- 
denying Penelope Carghill did not appear, Richard 
Carghill bowed his head upon a stand, while Mrs. 
Deveau applied the poultice, which, before morn- 
ing, brought him such relief, it intensified his de- 
sire to take her hands in his and call her — mother. 

The guests usually assembled upon the veranda 
and chatted awhile, before the gong summoned 
them to breakfast. This morning, Miss Carghill 
was eagerly awaiting her brother, and paid scant 
attention to the sentimental Mrs. Chester, who 
really was something of a bore, and was now say- 
ing: 

“Really, I think our gong is so in keeping with 
these surrounding hills and winding valley paths, 
which many a moccasined Indian foot has glided 
along. Perhaps, even along the identical sunken 
pathway that Natalie and I chanced upon in our 
tramp through the big woods yesterday, where 
prickly cat-briers and wild blackberry vines covered 
the narrow-bladed grass beneath them, some young 
Indian lover had sped with joyous heart to meet 
his betrothed and stroll with her alone in the moon- 
light; or perhaps their trysting place was beside 
that mirror of heaven, Lake Ronkonkoma, where, 
leaping gracefully into the canoe, together they 
floated upon the lake’s unrippled bosom, content 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


i8r 


and happy, believing their love would never wane. 
That in the maiden’s heart never would; but the 
lover’s ? Wait until he saw her beauty wane ! 

“Perhaps even as he promised — just as the pale- 
face lover does and will till time ends — that his 
love would endure through and beyond this life, an 
arrow, from a rival, pierced his heart!” 

Then the romance-weaving widow persuaded 
her daughter to recite the poem of Ronkonkoma, 
beginning : 

“In a sea-girt isle is a sand-girt sea, 

Of lustre rare, of tint divine; 

By Phoebus lit, by Zephyr cut ; 

Rare diamond from Golconda’s mine.” 

Mr. Carghill, smiling, stepped softly up to his 
sister who gave him no time to speak before she 
said : 

“My treatment was a success! You have no 
pain! You are perfectly well this beautiful day!” 

“Bless the dear heart in that poor, famished 
body of yours ! I can truly say I have no pain.” 

“I knew it, dear; I am so glad you did not use 
that poultice, — it would have encouraged mortal 
error. Surely, now, some day you will give our 
blessed religion its due.” 

“Until then I cannot fail to appreciate your 
affection for me, Penelope,” replied the brother. 

His cheery “good morning” to the Deveaus, as- 
sured them of the improvement their remedy had 
wrought. 

That evening, after the hot, sultry August day, 
none of the boarders were inclined to take their 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


182 

customary evening walk. Even the two athletic 
young ladies felt wilted, and resigned themselves 
to listening to Mr. Harper as he gave them a 
thrilling account of an accident that befell him in 
his infancy, and that deprived him of one of his 
milk-teeth. 

Miss Carghill was sitting between Mr. and Mrs. 
Deveau, conversing pleasantly. Mrs. Chester 
was doing her best to entertain Mr. Carghill, but 
failing dismally; for wasn’t Elva out among the 
flowers, watering the hydrangeas, with none but 
Emma to assist her? And Emma was, with one 
hand, passing to Elva a refilled watering pot, and 
with the other, waving distractedly to Corilla 
standing near her uncle, until Corilla could no 
longer resist joining her. 

No one paid any attention to the children, until 
Emma suddenly, and with one of those unexpect- 
ed, startling explosions of her voice, asked : “Miss 
Gorilla, how’s yuh sick doll?” 

Corilla, with motherly instinct, oblivious to the 
audience Emma had now attracted, innocently re- 
plied : “She’s awful worse ; but I tell her she’s not 
a bit sick, and that she must believe me.” 

“Ain’t she sick?” persisted Emma. 

“Yes, I told you she was worse; she’s got St. 
Michael’s dance, and its gone to her brains; but I 
just told her, ‘Genevieve, you’re not a bit sick; 
you’re a Christian Sciencess like I am,’ and I 
made her say ‘Christian Science is common sense !’ 
I made her say it lots of times, till she believed it ; 
and now she’ll be all well in the morning, like 
Uncle Richard is.” 

The children, so engrossed in their own conver- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 183 

sation, had not observed that the older people had 
discontinued theirs and were intently listening to 
them. Suddenly, Emma swung an empty water- 
ing pot over her head, and said, audaciously: 

“Poof ! When Ah git at her, Ah’ll make her tell 
the trufe! Ah’ll make her say ‘Chrisshin Science 
is Castile soap !’ ” 

Unfortunately, Mr. Deveau laughed aloud. 
Miss Carghill called Corilla, took her by the hand, 
and then with a glare at her brother, such as no 
spiritual eye could emit, went to her room. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A LIST FOR LOVERS. A WHITE SCIENTIST AND A 
BLACK SCOFFER. 

“Pardon me, Mrs. Deveau, was that Elva who 
just drove out in Dr. Russell’s carriage?” 

“Yes, Mr. Carghill. Mrs. Hilliard sent for her 
to take lunch there. She will be home by three 
o’clock.” 

“May I ask you to spare me a few moments in 
the library? Mr. Deveau awaits us there,” said 
Mr. Carghill. 

The simple request brought to Violet a sense 
of being suddenly enveloped in a damp blanket, 
and instantly her protecting mother-love over- 
flowed her heart which, while her lips remained 
silent, cried : “My Elva ! My baby ! you are going 
from mother!” 

Mr. and Mrs. Deveau both realized the worth 
of the man who desired to win their daughter, and 
gave consent; only Violet pleaded to delay trans- 
ferring her treasure into his keeping, until Elva 
was two years older, for sixteen was so early an 
age for a girl to assume responsibilities. 

The last of the boarders, except the Carghills, 
left that afternoon, and on his return from the sta- 
tion, Mr. Deveau handed Elva a letter. After 
she had read it, she said to her mother : 

“Do, Mama, sit down while I tell you a sur- 
prise! Ella Blake is married! Married ! Of alt 
184 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


iB5 

the stupid things she ever did, this is the worst. 
I cannot see why girls will be so foolish as to 
marry; they take such awful risks. An orphan 
might marry for a home; but when a girl has a 
good father and mother and a lovely home with 
them, she belongs there. 

“You may smile, Mama; but if I could vote, it 
would be for a man who would reform the mar- 
riage laws. Yes, I’d have him get a law passed 
compelling every man when he proposes, to hand 
his adored one a certificate to fill out and sign, 
and have filed among the town records. Then 
there would be fewer unhappy marriages, and less 
pity wasted upon the wife when she sobs out, be- 
tween her snifflings, ‘Boo-hoo! I never expected 
it would come to this !’ ” 

“Elva, Elva ! I thought you were but a child l” 
exclaimed her mother. 

“These are the questions I would have her re- 
ply to : 

“ Ts your love so strong it warrants your agree- 
ing to the following : 

( 1 ) That unless I choose to hire a servant, you 
will cheerfully do the washing, ironing, mending, 
cleaning, and cooking? 

(2) Be governess, waitress, milliner and dress- 
maker ? 

(3) Nurse and entertain me when I am sick, or 
think lam? 

(4) When I yearn for other ‘endearing young 
charms/ encourage me to search for and accept 
them? 

(5) Practice economy, and earn your share to- 


1 86 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


ward the support of our family, increasing that 
share as the family increases ?’ 

“Now that is what women who get married 
ought to be compelled to subscribe to; they have 
to live up to it in many instances. Why do they 
want to marry, anyhow?” 

Richard Carghill was hurrying toward them; 
Violet, with a feeling of impending loss, noted the 
deepening color of the roses in her daughter's 
cheeks. 

“I caught part of your query, Elva,” said Mr. 
Carghill. “Was it regarding ministers or bache- 
lors? I plead guilty to the latter charge. Yet I 
am sure I could reform if someone would take an 
interest in my condition. 

“Mrs. Deveau, may I borrow Elva to take me 
for a walk down to the cranberry patch? I have 
never been there.” 

“Now, Mr. Carghill?” Elva inquired. “It is 
sunny part of the way, and you may get freckled 
unless you carry a parasol and walk in my 
shadow.” 

“That I will cheerfully do,” replied Mr. Carg- 
hill. 

The mother watched them until the trees hid 
them from her view, her lips tremblingly asking 
God’s blessing upon them both. 

It was Emma’s play-hour, and Corilla told her 
that this would be their last playtime together. 

“Ah don’ want yo’ go home,” said Emma. 

“I must,” responded Corilla. 

“Ah jes’ wouldn’, — Ah’d kick' an’ yell so they’d 
leave me yere.” 

“No one would want me if I were so naughty. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 187 

I am coming back next summer, Aunt Penelope 
says.” 

“Mebbe yo’ won’ see me, ’cause Ah’m gwine 
away some time, ef Ah leave yere. Mebbe Ah’ll 
live wiv Mis’ Hilyer an’ Doctah Russell.” 

“That’ll be nice.” 

“Nope, ’twon’t, cause Jim’s there; Ah don’ 
laike him; he’s sassy to me, an’ he’s bigger’n me. 
Look! Look, Gorilla, mah doll’s sayin’ her prahs. 
She fohgits she’s got a smashed nose.” 

“Do you pray, Emma?” 

“Yep, when Ah ain’t too sleepy.” 

“You must always pray. Let’s promise this: — 
you pray for me, and I’ll pray for you, every single 
night; will you?” 

“All right, Ah will. That’s fun.” 

“Was your institution like a museum?” 

“Yaas; couhse it was! Mis’ Ross said so, any- 
how.” 

“Were you ever at the museum?” 

“Nope; Ah was gwine, but Mis’ Ross said Ah 
couldn’, so Ah didn’.” 

“Oh, when did you make that shawl for your 
doll? I never saw it before.” 

“Oh, Ah did it all to once, at diffeh’nt times.” 

“Who did Miss Ross look like?” asked Corilla, 
endeavoring to obtain all the information possible 
regarding Emma, whom she knew she would 
greatly miss after returning to the city. 

“Jes’ laike yoh Aunt Pinnellipoppy, only more 
meat on her bones.” 

“Would you like to live with her again ?” 

“Couldn’ see no trees, no flowehs, no nuthin’, 


1 88 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


an’ no yon, neither, ub Ah went back. Ah aint 
gwine back, whut’s more. ,, 

“But you could see other things. Why! I saw 
a woman jump out of a window, once. She had 
had so much trouble that she wanted to die.” 

“Ah wouldn’ of don’ that; Ah’d of got in mah 
bed an’ died whar’ it was sof’ an’ easy.” 

“She didn’t think of that, poor woman. She 
broke both legs, and the doctor had to cut them 
off.” 

“Whut did he do wiv ’em?” 

“I never asked about that. Yes, and once I 
saw a house where there was a beautiful carpet all 
down the stone steps and out on the sidewalk; 
and a little girl threw lovely flowers all over the 
carpet, on purpose. Somebody was going to get 
married in the house,” said Corilla. 

“Was it a man er a woman?” 

“I didn’t hear, — why, both, of course,” Corilla 
answered, after a moment’s thought. 

“Ah don’ laike gittin’ mahhied, Ah don’. Got 
mahhied once, an’ that was ’nough fo’ me.” 

“You did? Truly?” 

“Yep, when Ah was a kid. A sassy big col- 
ored man frowed wateh in mah face, an’ Ah 
knocked his specs offun his nose; an’ ’en some- 
body spanked me. Ah’ll never git mahhied agin.” 

Emma as a bride! Corilla’s imagination could 
not shape that picture! Why, Emma might have 
been a baby , — ah! there! 

“You didn’t get married after all! You were 
only christened!” exclaimed Corilla, feeling bet- 
ter now the doubt as to Emma’s veracity might be 
removed. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 189 

“Well, let it go at that; it’s all the same — Mis' 
Ross said so, anyhow.” 

“No, it isn’t, Emma. When you get married, 
you have a lovely new home, and lots of pretty 
things all your own; and the servants mind you. 
And some day the doctor comes and gives you a 
baby, a little mite of a one; and if you like it, 
you can keep it, and buy dozens more if you want 
to. My cousin bought seven.” 

“Ah wouldn’ buy none ; they holler of yo’ pinch 
’em.” 

“Of course they do; but nobody would pinch a 
dear litle baby !” 

“Ah would,” announced Emma, who thrived 
best on perversity. 

“Oh, that is awful !” 

“Mis’ Ross’s uncle had a baby that cried jes’ fo’ 
nuthin’, so Ah pinched it, an’ golly ! didn’ he yell ?” 
said Emma, the picture of delight. 

“Would you like to be pinched?” asked Corilla, 
shocked at both Emma’s declaration and her glee, 

“Yep, of Ah yelled fo’ nuthin’.” 

“Then all I can say is that I hope the doctor 
won’t have any when you order one.” 

“Don’ laike doctahs, Ah don’.” 

“Neither does Aunt Penelope.” 

“Whut makes yo’ Aunt Pinnellipoppy not laike 
’em ? ’cause Ah don’ ?” asked Emma, grinning. 

“N-no” replied Corilla, disgusted at Emma’s 
presumption. “ ’Cause nobody needs them.” 

“They do when they git sick an’ die. Mis’ Ross 
— golly! Ah guess she didn’.” The last remark 
was in an undertone. 

“They would never be sick if they would only 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


190 

believe, and read the little black book like Aunt 
Penelope does. Why, my aunt knew a woman 
who was blind, and she read the book, and her 
eyesight got cured!” 

“Poof! Ah know one better’n ’at; Ah know a 
woman whut had her eyes jump up an’ down.” 

“That was different. The one I mean kept her 
eyes still.” 

“Bet she didn’ read; — she fooled yo’. How 
could she read of she was blind ?” 

“She did, though; she just read on and on, and 
by and by she could see.” 

“Bet she held the book bottom-sid’-up !” 

“It doesn’t make a bit of difference in Chris- 
tian Science, how you hold your book ; it will cure 
you any way.” 

“Will it cure bungyuns on folkses feet?” 

“O yes; it will cure anything” 

“Will it cure mah doll’s smashed nose? Git 
the book an’ le’s see !” 

That was a poser; but fate favored the per- 
plexed, innocent young believer, for at that mo- 
ment a loud blast from a fisherman’s horn attract- 
ed attention, and as the wagon came in sight, 
Emma went hastily behind a tree, and slyly drew 
something forth from the bosom of her dress. 

The wagon stopped by the kitchen door, and 
the red-faced driver got out. As Mrs. Deveau 
came down the steps, Emma, with both hands be- 
hind her, was shyly approaching the man, who, 
espying her, called out : 

“Hullo, snowflake; do you like oysters?” 

“Here! Wear it!” Emma gasped, almost 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


191 

breathlessly; and as the man put out his big, 
greasy hand, she dropped a bead ring into it. 

The man was profuse in his thanks, and after 
he had put the ring on his finger, and was cleaning 
a large bluefish, he said to Mrs. Deveau: “I al- 
ways joke with her; she’s a tender-hearted little 
wench. Fve got six of my own to home, jest like 
her.” 

The play-hour was nearly over. 

“Don’t forget to pray for me, and I’ll pray for 
you. Will you remember, Emma?” asked Co- 
rilla. 

“Of Ah don’ fohgit. Ah’ll ’membah. Ah kin 
’membah lots ;— ’membah when Ah was bohned.” 

“Then you beat me,” said Corilla. 

“Aha ! Mah head’s betteh’n yohs. Ah was 
bohned out ’tween two hicko’-nut trees. Mah 
mother was away jabberin’ wiv somebody else, an’ 
when she got home, whut did she see but me, lay- 
in’ in the grass !” 

“Wasn’t she surprised?” asked Corilla. 

“Nope ; she didn’ keer.” 

“Well, I’d have been. Now don’t forget your 
prayers; they make people good, and happy, too.” 

“All right; gwine to pray fo’ the fishman, so 
Ah’ll pray f o’ yo’ same time 1’* 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


CEDARVALE. INVITATIONS. 

Doctor Russell and his sister had been in 
their new home, Cedarvale, — formerly the Miller 
place — several months. 

So happy was Mrs. Hilliard there, that once, 
when the doctor was called to the city for several 
days, and had suggested that she invite some 
friends to keep her company during his absence, 
she had replied : “Harold, dear, I prefer not to be 
encumbered with ‘friends/ Tomorrow, Biddy 
Sixtoes will have an increase of thirteen in family, 
and at the first ‘peep-peep,’ I must be on hand. Be- 
sides that, Johnson assures me that he always 
christens every animal born upon any farm where 
he attends to the stock; and such ceremony is to 
be performed here tomorrow over the new calf, 
and I have been accorded the privilege of naming 
it. With so many perplexing cares, how could I 
entertain ‘friends’?” 

What seemed to interest Mrs. Hilliard more 
than all else about the farm, were the vari- 
ous flocks of chickens; immense Shanghais, 

and little Bantams; Brahmas with whiskers on 
their legs; and top-knotted Leghorns that love to 
hide away in the barn and make new nests for 
themselves in the haymow. 

And then there was the team of large white 
192 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


193 


mules, Jenny and Jack, that looked so roguish, 
with their long ears flapping, and their queer, 
shillalah-like tails swinging. 

Shortly after breakfast one morning, Doctor 
Russell said : “I have been thinking, Dorothy, that 
while the Baylises are here next week, it would be 
pleasant to also have Brother Bradley and his 
estimable wife to take tea with us. We can in- 
vite also the Delmores, Porters, and the Ros wells.” 

“That would be a very few; can you not think 
of some others ?” 

“Aunt Molly and Uncle Billy, of course ; and for 
Brother Bradley’s pleasure a few more of his flock 
might be enticed to come, — Mrs. Haywood, for 
instance.” 

“It is my opinion that Brother Bradley would 
more heartily enjoy being just a plain mortal, and 
renouncing his shepherdship for one evening. How 
I pity him! and still more deeply do my sympa- 
thies go out to Mrs. Bradley. A country, Metho- 
dist minister’s wife ! God pity her !” 

“Why, Dorothy Russell Hilliard! How you 
talk!” 

“But you don’t know, Harold! Really, it is a 
beggar’s life to live; dependent upon people who 
hire you; to have to ask for your well-earned sal- 
ary, only to hear some tight-fisted trustee say, 
‘Money is dretful scurce, ’cause crops was poorly; 
but we’ll try an’ smouch out a little fer yer, ef yer 
r’arly need it.’ That is actually what they told Mr. 
Reynolds, one of the best of their former pastors, 
as they doled out a small portion of what was past 
due him. 


194 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“But is there no one else you can think of to 
invite to our tea party ?” 

“N-no; not any one we particularly care for.” 

“Why Harold Russell , M. D.! Did you ever 
hear of a family named Deveau?” and the rapid, 
searching glance accompanying the question, 
brought a blush to the doctor’s handsome face; 
and the one look of mingled pain and pleasure 
that shot from his eyes, revealed to Dorothy as 
much as a verbal confession would have done. 

“The friends you so kindly mention, seem so 
like ourselves, that I would as soon have thought 
of naming myself, or you,” explained Doctor Rus- 
sell. 

“I forgive you; and now, as I do not believe in 
postponing a pleasure if one can avoid so doing, 
I shall invite our friends today.” 

The brother and sister were still discussing 
plans when Elva, driving her team of ponies, came 
up the driveway, and invited her Aunt Dot to take 
a ride. 

“I was just wishing that some good fairy would 
stop and take me to make a few carriage calls; 
would they interfere with your plans at all, 
dearie ?” 

“Not in the least, for I have no plan except to 
get you here beside me,” Elva replied. 

When they had ridden some distance, Elva 
said: “Aunt Dot, I want to tell you a secret, but 
you must promise not to breathe a word of it to 
Uncle Harold, for I could not stand it to be teased. 
Mama is going to help me keep my secret, but I 
am afraid I cannot count on Papa. The fact is, 
I — I’m, well, I have promised Mr. Carghill 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


*95 

that I will be his wife,” announced the beautiful 
girl. 

Aunt Dot turned and kissed her. “God bless 
you, my darling. I wish I could take you and 
Mr. Carghill, too, in my arms and give you both 
a good, loving hug.” 

The idea of little Aunt Dot endeavoring to em- 
brace Mr. Carghill, who was larger than any man 
living in Mapleton, amused Elva; and she did not 
cease laughing till they approached the parsonage, 
where they saw Mrs. Bradley tying up a refractory 
rose bush. “Woo-hoo!” Mrs. Hilliard called, 
merrily; and Mrs. Bradley hurried to the gate to 
welcome her. 

“The doctor and I would like to know when 
you and your equal-half can most conveniently 
honor us with your presence for an afternoon and 
evening. Do not say you must consult your hus- 
band before deciding, for nothing ages one like 
suspense. This is Friday; — will next Tuesday be 
the accepted time?” 

“That day will suit us, admirably, provided Mr. 
Bradley has no previous engagement.” 

“Then Tuesday it shall be; and should any ap- 
plicants for matrimonial folly appear, they can be 
forwarded to our house, and the knot be tied 
there. I will guarantee that no funeral shall de- 
tain Brother Bradley, as I shall distinctly forbid 
my brother attending his patients in the interven- 
ing time.” 

“Aunt Dot, I cannot let pass unchallenged any 
such aspersions against Uncle Harold,” Elva ex- 
claimed. “Even Papa would not be alive now, 
were it not for him.” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


196 

“Faith is a sublime thing, Elva,” said Mrs. Hil- 
liard, “and yours in your Uncle Harold never 
wavers. Never having known a day’s illness, I 
cannot, personally, attest his wonderful success. 
Joking aside, Mrs. Bradley, my brother is not only 
a skillful physician, but a conscientious one. 

“Next Tuesday, then, about three, we will look 
for you. Please tell Brother Bradley I need him 
in a religious sense, as well as in a social way.” 

“You may be a trifle deficient in creeds or forms, 
but you answer every requirement of Christianity, 
from my point of view. The sunshine you al- 
ways bring and so liberally diffuse, produces bet- 
ter fruitage than were you to come with chilling 
visage, and a prayer-book under your arm. Isn’t 
that heresy? And from a minister’s^ wife, too! 
But do come here as often as you can; — I need 
you !” 

Mrs. Hilliard’s merry laugh rang out, and its 
echo had not died away, when Mrs. Haywood 
drove slowly by in her carriage. How strangely 
she looked at Dot! Never before had anyone 
given Dorothy Hilliard such a repelling stare as 
accompanied Mrs. Haywood’s condescending bow. 

From the parsonage, the ponies drew their pre- 
cious charges to the gate of the little white cottage 
where Aunt Molly, on her knees, was cutting the 
grass bordering her flower beds. To the merry 
greeting of her callers, she responded : 

“I’m right glad ter see yer both. Do git out an’ 
come in ! As Daddy useter say, Tt won’t take long 
to stay harf an hour.’ Yer carn’t? That’s too 
bad ! I was jest a-thinkin’ mebbe it’s a sin ter cut 
this beautiful green grass that on’y the Almighty 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


197 

kin make ter grow. But then, thinkses I, He 
makes men’s hair grow, too; an’ ef that warn’t 
never ait arfter they’re born, bimebye ’twould 
trail onter the ground a-hind ’em. I wouldn’t 
wanter see no sech comet-like bipeds as them then, 
a-comin’ inter my house whilst I was eatin’ ; would 
you ?” 

“Not I,” replied Mrs. Hilliard. “I’m sure I’d 
run if I met one in the road, even in daylight. Of 
course we know that God gives us the material; 
but He expects us to utilize it to suit ourselves. 
And I believe He gave you to us to add to our 
happiness. In fact, we cannot do without you, 
Aunt Molly; and that is why I am here to request 
you to come to our house next Tuesday afternoon. 
There will be just a few others. You’ll come, 
won’t you?” 

“Y-e-s; but I carn’t fer the life of me see what 
good an old critter like I be kin do to a party ! My 
dancin’ days is over, — er oughter be.” 

“We want you, with your sunny disposition, to 
be a leaven ” said Mrs. Hilliard. 

“Be car’ful who yer git fer the dozenth, then,” 
responded Aunt Molly, smiling. “But without 
jokin’, I’m pleased ter death with my invite, an’ 
I’ll be there even ef it rains an’ I hafter come in a 
ginger-rickrack, er whatever is Chinee fer car- 
riage.” 

“There’ll be no trouble about your getting to 
us; Larry will come for you,” said Mrs. Hilliard. 

“No, no! don’t take so much trouble fer me. 
I’m on’y a shadder, passin’ on, ter soon disappear 
altogether ter make room fer newer ones. Natur* 
carn’t paint her picters with too many faded sub- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


198 

jec’s in ’em; she haster have new an’ bright ones 
ter liven up her canvas. An’ so the old ones has 
ter take their turn a-droppin’ out.” 

“You’ll not drop out if love from us can keep 
you, Aunt Molly,” said Elva. 

“I know that, my child,” responded the old lady ; 
“and so, Mrs. Hilliard, yer kin depend on me ter 
turn out, rain er shine, next Tuesdy.” 

Acceptance came from each of the others in- 
vited to what Doctor Russell and his sister deter- 
mined should be an informal, neighborly gathering. 
Then, again Mrs. Hilliard’s thoughts turned to 
Mrs. Haywood and her insolent, inexplainable 
stare. 

It had been remarked by a scoffer, in that gos- 
sip’s nightly Mecca, the drug store, that “the par- 
son seems ter find the heft of his life-work in 
Home-at-Last !” 

Mrs. Hilliard, not having heard that the male 
gossips had started such a rumor, could not be ex- 
pected to have interpreted Mrs. Haywood’s look, 
behind which was a fear that the fascinating 
widow might prove too attractive to the man whom 
she, Mrs. Haywood, had determined to enslave, — 
his wife, and her husband, notwithstanding. 

Violet felt certain that Elva would persuade Her 
Aunt Dot to return with her, and had been watch- 
ing for them. The three ladies went into the 
library not knowing that Doctor Russell and Mr. 
Deveau were engaged in conversation there, where 
the former had again, at his friend’s request, been 
relating the incident of his call upon Anna Gray. 
By each starting, tactlessly, to enlarge upon a dif- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


199 


ferent subject, the gentlemen betrayed the fact 
that the entrance of the ladies had made them 
abruptly change their preceding subject of con- 
versation; and the ladies also observed that the 
subsequent, pretended calmness was rather diffi- 
cult, at first, to maintain. 

“Edward will tell me what was so strangely 
affecting him, when we are alone,” thought Vio- 
let. 

Trusting wife, to keep from your knowledge the 
facts then under discussion, one of the men then 
sitting in your pleasant library will gladly devote 
his life; — and the other will forfeit his! 

A woman loves to place her trust in a man's 
keeping, — a man whom she believes noble, pure, 
and true. It is to her a sacred privilege. 

And so, to a husband, a weakling, who would 
lightly treat that trust, I would say: — If fall you 
will, sink at once so deep in the mire of unfaith- 
fulness, that firing a bullet into your depraved 
heart, will be your next and final act. Yet had 
you a thousand lives, their extinguishment could 
not make atonement. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A PUPIL OF WALT WHITMAN'S RECITES. 

Mrs. Hilliard had arisen early, and her slip- 
pered feet hastened along the hall to her brother's 
door. Her plump, pretty hands began to drum 
upon the panels, as she called out: “Come, Har- 
old! This is Tuesday, and I have a bushel of 
questions to ask you. Come, before they sprout 
and become a ton!” 

At breakfast, Mrs. Hilliard asked her brother: 
“What was the subject of conversation so guiltily 
dropped, last Friday, when Violet and Elva and 
I appeared upon the scene?” 

Not for his life would he have told her, though 
there had been no pledge to secrecy. 

“Where would be your respect for me, were I 
to betray, even to my dear sister, a confidence re- 
posed in me?” was his evasive answer. “But 
where are the rest of your questions, — the four 
pecks you were so burdened with this morning, 
that I was compelled, from pure sympathy, to 
arise almost as soon as the chimney-swallows be- 
gan to flutter?” 

“I must have lost them in the poultry yard 
while watching Larry feed the prettiest flock of 
week-old chicks I ever saw. Why is it that each 
succeeding batch is sure to be prettier than any 
before it? I hold them to my face, and they 
200 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


201 


snuggle under my chin, so affectionately, I actu- 
ally wish I were an old hen, if I could be their 
mother; while she struts ’round and ’round me, 
in old-hen dignity, as though saying: 'Under 
protest, I permit your caresses to my offspring; 
but I well know they prefer my cluck to yours.’ ” 

"Dot, you should have been a mother!” 

"So I have often thought; but Providence be- 
lieved differently. Twice I prayed, truly I did, 
that I might have a baby of my very own. I 
wanted to feel its dimpled hands on my face, 
and to hug my baby so tight ” 

"There ! no doubt you would have done it, 
too,” interrupted the doctor, "and that is why it 
was denied you. This squeezing of helpless in- 
fants is worse to them than to us would be the 
hug of a bear. Yes, since you admit what you 
would have done, I see the Hand of Providence 
in the withholding of your request.” 

"What you really mean is that Providence, 
foreseeing that it would grow up to become as 
great a torment as its uncle, kindly spared me,” 
retorted Dorothy. 

Before three o’clock, Jim, Larry’s young as- 
sistant, gorgeously arrayed in white trousers, and 
red coat with brass buttons, took up his position 
by the porte cochere and waited to attend to the 
horses of arriving guests. 

First to arrive were Reverend and Mrs. Brad- 
ley; and scarcely were their greetings over, when, 
on foot, came Lucille and Maud Delmore. 

"Dear Mrs. Hilliard,” said the former, "your 
surprise at our arriving in this manner, is no 
greater than our own. At breakfast, Father said 


202 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


as it was such a grand morning for fishing, he 
believed it was fore-ordained that he should go; 
and when Father decides to do a thing, not even 
the rickets could stop him. He promised faith- 
fully, to return by noon; and he and Melton 
started. Maude and I waited until after two, and 
as they had not returned with the team, and we 
not caring to entrust our precious lives to the 
mercy of the colt, our only recourse was to drive 
Elder Sniffles, our old horse. In front of the 
undertaker’s, he balked, and nothing would coax 
him to come further. So we arranged with the 
undertaker to tie Mr. Sniffles and let him stand 
until he gets into a better frame of mind, and 
then have a boy drive him home before Father 
and Melton leave for here.” 

“And, Mrs. Hilliard,” said Maude Delmore, 
“although we appear before you as two 'weary 
Willies,’ we may be ' angels unawares !’ ” 

Mr. and Mrs. John Porter had been invited to 
Cedarvale this evening for the reason that Doctor 
Russell entertained a great respect for the former, 
whom he often found at the bedside of sick men, 
and who ever did all the good he could, in his 
quiet, unassuming way, while bearing uncom- 
plainingly the affliction heaven (?) had sent him, 
— a wife who neglected her duty to him and to 
their home, while devoting all her time to her 
plan of running the universe. 

But instead of the Porters fulfilling their en- 
gagement, a note was received from Mrs. Porter, 
expressing deepest regret that an unforeseen oc- 
currence prevented Mr. Porter from enjoying the 
pleasure of the visit that day; and as for herself, 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


203 


she had written so unremittingly upon an article 
to be sent to the King of Siam, which she ex- 
pected would be widely reprinted, that her head 
was ready to burst. For that reason she must 
forego, as usual , an anticipated pleasure. 

Out on the croquet field where the balls rolled 
as upon a stretch of green velvet, were the Brad- 
leys, Roswells, Maude Delmore and Violet, Mr. 
Baylis and Mr. Raymond Niles, the latter being 
an anomaly — he followed the Golden Rule and 
practiced law at the same time ! 

There was merry laughter from the players as 
Maude Delmore sent her pastor “up Salt River 
and ere he could return, carriage wheels were 
heard, and all looked eagerly for Doctor Russell’s 
appearance. 

But it was not the doctor’s horse that came 
briskly in at the gate. A lady was driving; and 
Edward Deveau, sitting on a rustic seat near the 
players, with Mrs. Baylis chatting pleasantly to 
him, felt his heart-beats accelerate; — unnecessar- 
ily, however, for the caller proved to be Mrs. 
Haywood. 

Aristocratic in feature, tastily attired, driving 
her beautiful, spirited, iron-gay horse, Chancel- 
lor, her black eyes hastily surveying the players 
upon the lawn, and then settling upon one figure, 
around the sweep of the drive Mrs. Haywood 
came. A bow and a charming smile were vouch- 
safed Brother Bradley, as she passed the group 
of players and drove on to the house. 

Her flimsy excuse for coming at such a time, 
was, that Huldah, her colored girl, had a splinter 
in her hand. Surely not love for the child, nor 


204 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


her own inability to remove the splinter, caused 
her to bring her servant to a surgeon for so sim- 
ple a matter! 

Regretting even more than before that Doctor 
Russell was so long detained, Mrs. Hilliard could 
do no less than invite Mrs. Haywood to alight 
and await his return. Huldah remained in the 
carriage, frightened by her mistress into the be- 
lief that her little black hand must be in a serious 
condition to require the services of a surgeon. 

The child was divided between two fears, — one 
of sudden death from blood-poisoning, and the 
other of the surgical operation during which the 
doctor might decide to remove her finger; and 
she was sure that she had heard of somebody who 
had a finger cut off and then caught the measles 
and died. How terrible the future seemed! She 
sat there a whole hour, sobs choking her little 
throat, while tears as pearly and as salty as a 
white child’s, coursed down her mahogany-col- 
ored cheeks. 

A glad halloo from the doctor as he drove into 
the grounds and threw the reins to Jim, delighted 
all except Mrs. Haywood. Brother Bradley had 
just walked with her to the carriage to see the 
remarkable splinter, but had forgotten his object 
while listening to the entertaining woman at his 
side. Meanwhile, the splinter had, in Huldah’s 
imagination, grown into an immense log. 

“Brother Bradley, I am very lonely at Home- 
at-Last; won’t you call in soon and see me? Your 
words of encouragement always revive me.” 

“With pleasure, Mrs. Haywood. I am always 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


205 

at the command of my people, and to serve them 
is my delight.” 

Satisfied that she had made one progressive 
step, Mrs. Haywood saw the man whom she be- 
lieved was her ideal, step aside for Doctor Rus- 
sell, who looked at Huldah’s afflicted finger, and 
said : 

“That will soon be all right. Just turn ’round 
and see if Jim is coming with my case of instru- 
ments. Look sharp, now, for that rascal!” 

Trustingly, the woolly head revolved. 

“Never mind Jim; the wind has blown the 
splinter away.” 

Surely it was not in Doctor Russell’s tones 
that Mrs. Haywood thought she detected sar- 
casm ; while as for Huldah, one could almost hear 
the gratitude dancing in her heart, keeping step 
to the music of thanksgiving. No fear of measles 
now, — no fear of death, — no fear of anything. 
She would be a good girl from this day to the end 
of her life, — the life she had been so near losing! 

Mrs. Haywood was assisted into her carriage 
by Doctor Russell; Mrs. Hilliard returned the 
lady’s farewell bow; and Chancellor, tossing his 
heavy mane, danced along for a few steps as he 
passed Brother Bradley, raised both front feet an 
instant and stood as though to say, “I am not a 
Methodist, and consequently not amenable to the 
laws against dancing,” and then trotted awav, 
bearing behind him in the carriage, a black girl 
who was resolving to keep her soul white; and a 
white woman who was preparing to blacken hers. 

After apologizing to his guests, now assembled 
in the large parlors, Doctor Russell said: “I did 


206 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


believe that old Mr. Hobbs knew I wanted to be 
at home this afternoon, and got up a special at- 
tack of rheumatism to balk my plans. He suc- 
ceeded; and for a time he was in a serious condi- 
tion, as the pain settled around his heart. While 
waiting for applications to take effect, for- 
tunately I secured control of his mind. I told 
him he was a far better physician than I am, for 
I had given him up a year ago; and I reminded 
him of the tongue-lashing he gave me for not 
continuing my regular visits, and how, in anger 
against me, he began treating himself, which ac- 
counted for his still being upon earth. When I 
said to him, ‘If I had kept on attending you, you 
would have been dead long ago,’ he actually 
laughed. When I left, he was so delighted with 
himself, I am sure he was glad to see me go. 

“There would be very little need of drugs, were 
cheerfulness more extensively cultivated. When I 
enter some houses and meet my im-patients with 
their faces as long as my horse’s, and watch those 
faces gradually shorten till they become normal, 
I realize what a gigantic field for deception, is 
the practice of medicine. 

“I never object to attending people who are 
really ill; but mock-invalids who foam themselves 
into a nervous disorder, need advice for their first 
treatment. But a return of the malady, from a 
similar cause, merits chastisement.” 

“In which category did I belong when you 
attended me, doctor?” asked rosy-cheeked Lucile 
Delmore. 

“Yours was a special case, Miss Delmore, a 
broken arm. No surgeon could have designed a 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


20 7 

more beautiful break than you made. There is no 
question about your suffering having been real,” 
replied Doctor Russell. 

“I admit I am trembling for fear Doctor Rus- 
sell recalls my attacks of nervousness,” said 
Violet. 

“Now you see, doctor, the trouble you have 
gotten into,” said Mr. Delmore. “When you are 
my age, you will realize the wisdom of always 
agreeing with everyone.” 

“Father’s remark shows he appreciates the 
training my sisters and I have given him,” re- 
marked Melton Delmore. 

“The fact that my case has received honorable 
mention from our kind friend, Doctor Russell, 
emboldens me to advance my pet theory, — that 
more illness, and other trouble as well, is caused 
by giving way to anger, than from any other 
cause. In my own case, when I fell and 
broke my arm, I was thinking too intently of the 
cruel remarks just previously made by a woman 
who called at our house; and I was so angered, 
I first lost my head and then my balance. Six 
weeks for retrospection did not make me love 
either the woman nor the heathen she is so inter- 
ested in, any better,” said Lucile. Then address- 
ing her pastor, who had been an interested lis- 
tener, she added: “I am sorry, Brother Bradley; 
but it is so /” 

“There always has been, and always will be, 
injustice in this world; — unkind criticisms that 
sting; — false rumors that stab. Were it other- 
wise, there might be no longing in our hearts for 
the beautiful world beyond,” said Brother Brad- 


208 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


ley, to whom undivided attention was given. 
“From what I have observed, each of us here to- 
day has a happy home; yet we know that when 
the Dear Father calls us, it will be to one incom- 
parably happier. Still, may it be His kind pleas- 
ure to defer that summons until we have fulfilled 
our allotted time.” 

“I hope so; ’cause life’s short, an’ you’re a long 
time dead,” proclaimed a voice, before its owner 
came fully into view. 

“That’s Aunt Molly, — the original and only 
Aunt Molly!” exclaimed Melton Delmore, who 
was a particular favorite of the old lady now en- 
tering. She was cordially greeted, and her tardi- 
ness, so unusual, commented upon. 

“The reason is, jes’ as I was ready ter start, 
your Juliet, Violet, come over with a fresh pitcher 
of butter-milk. I had on my black alpacky 
gownd, with my brooch an’ all in my neck; an’ 
what percessed me ter arsk a colored girl sech a 
thing, I dunno. But tennyrate, I up an’ says: 
‘Who is all is goin’ ter be to the Russellses ter- 
day, Juliet?’ 

“I knowed as well as she did ; but not till she 
said it did I seem ter sorter feel it; an’ she says, 
‘The minister’s carriage jes’ druv aheader the 
Roswell’s/ I was awful sorry ter keep Larry 
waitin’ when he come, but all ter once it dawned 
on me that alpacky was pretty good mater’al, but 
silk was better. So off went that dress, an’ inter 
this I jumped, as bein’ more honorin’ ter the 
’casion an’ the comp’ny,” said Aunt Molly, with 
a quaint courtesy preceding a little nod. 

It gave Harold Russell supreme pleasure to 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


209 


have his friends gathered around his supper table 
with its beautiful appointments and tempting re- 
freshments. He could scarcely realize that the 
woman he loved with a devotion so pure an arch- 
angel would sanction it, was beneath his roof and 
at his left hand, — so close, ’twould not take an 
instant for his hand to clasp hers, — that small, 
white hand that he longed so to caress ! He wisely 
brushed away the entrancing picture imagination 
presented — of Violet Deveau, having come into 
his life in the long-ago, now his wife, and sit- 
ting at the foot of his table; — and continued his 
agreeable duties as host. 

Elva, sitting beside Aunt Molly, remarked : 
“That dress is certainly fine enough for a wed- 
ding dress.” 

“Better keep mum, child, ’bout weddin* 
dresses; nobuddy wants none, here. There’s im- 
portanter things than weddin’ dresses ter be 
thinkin’ ’bout when folks gits ter be my age. 
Now it’s funny, but fer years back I’ve owned 
tip ter sixty-seven year; but when I looked inter 
my bible one night arfter Polly Adelaide had had 
a swearin’ streak, I found that I was borned 
seventy year ago, ef my mul’plication table serves 
me right. Still, Mother may of made a mistake; 
an’ I carl’klate sev’ral more years will float over 
my cranigum afore I reach three-score-an’-ten. 
As I say ter — as I tell a friend of mine,” 

“Uncle Billy, yes,” interrupted Maude Del- 
more, at Aunt Molly’s other side. 

“Who said ‘Uncle Billy’ ? Carn’t a buddy have 
a friend unless it’s named Billy? As I tell a 
friend of mine, there’s time ’nough vit!” 


210 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


Unconsciously, Aunt Molly had been raising 
her voice until the entire company was her audi- 
ence; and now each in turn volunteered a sugges- 
tion. 

“Never mind about time, Aunt Molly,” said 
Mr. Delmore, “except to realize that there is no 
time like the present. Here is Brother Bradley, 
ready to tie the knot.” 

“You could not look nicer if you tried for a 
week!” declared Melton. 

“I’ll go and fetch the bridegroom,” offered Mr. 
Baylis. 

“I’ll give my plain gold ring for the wedding 
ring,” said Mr. Deveau. 

“I’ll be bridesmaid,” cheerily announced Lucile 
Delmore. 

“I’ll give the bride away,” said Doctor Russell. 

“This is wusser’n Bedlum!” exclaimed Aunt 
Molly, laughing, and putting her hands over her 
ears. Her verdict, however, was drowned by the 
others’ continuing: 

“I’ll play the wedding march!” volunteered 
Mrs. Hilliard. 

“I will attest to there being no legal impedi- 
ment to the union,” asserted Raymond Niles. 

“I will give a family bible, and the wish that 
bride and groom may ever be as happy as Mr. 
Bradley and I are,” came from the minister’s 
wife. 

“I’ll say ‘bless you, my children,’ after the cere- 
mony,” said Maude Delmore. 

“Mrs. Baylis and I will sign the wedding cer- 
tificate, as witnesses,” said Violet. 

“Has ev’ry county been heerd from? Seems 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


21 1 


ter me ye’re havin’ great fun, countin’ yer chick- 
ens afore they’re hatched. Look out yer hen 
warn’t sot on chiney eggs. Tennyrate, I hain’t 
so big a fool ez I look!” exclaimed Aunt Molly, 
her twinkling, black eyes scanning the pattern 
in the damask tablecloth, while she was strug- 
gling bravely to appear unconcerned. 

Even when supper was over and all arose 
from the table, the suggestions were continued. 
Usually in advance, she now hung back ; and when 
the first couple had reached the parlor doors, they 
gave to those following them, an unspoken 
admonition to keep quiet until Aunt Molly had 
shared their discovery. 

There, upon a sofa, beaming with contentment, 
arrayed in his swallow-tail coat, a gorgeous red- 
and-yellow bandana tied around his throat, his 
stove-pipe hat on the floor between his feet, sat 
the one man in the world, whom Aunt Molly 
wished, at that moment, was in the African jun- 
gles. She gave one brief glance at him, and then 
walked to a chair as far from him as she could 
get. 

Had he mistaken the supper hour? Would 
he not go with her now and have some tea? Dot 
was hospitably inquiring of the belated guest. 

“No marm, I thank you marm; but when I 
found I couldn’t git here time fer supper, I got my 
supper ’fore I come. I’m jes’ as much obliged, 
but I’ve had all I could punish, an’ more’d be 
flipperfloppus.” 

Everyone except Aunt Molly, had greeted the 
pleasant old gentleman. She still sat in her re- 
mote corner, thanking her stars that he had come 


212 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


too late for supper. How provoking, after all the 
teasing she had had to submit to on his account, 
to have him sitting there, smiling his blandest! 

Doctor Russell had extricated the high hat just 
as its owner nearly had one of his chunky feet 
upon it, and hung it in the hall. 

There he sat, his short legs crossed, his fingers 
clasped, his thumbs twirling rapidly, while he 
was summoning courage to address the being upon 
whom he hoped ere November's snow fell, to be- 
stow the name of Mrs. William Nehemiah Haw - 
kins. 

“Good evenin', Aunt Molly; be you here?" 

“Ruther so," replied the lady addressed. 

“Well, well! I didn’t know but as what yer 
might be ; an' yit, thinkses I, ‘mebbe she mightn’t.’ " 

“What yer got yer throat tied up fer? 'Fraid 
of croup?" 

“Lordy! I on'y jes' put on this ere hankercher 
ter make me 'member ter take off my head-dress; 
an' here I disrec’leck ter take the plaguey thing 
itself off!" 

Elva went to his assistance, as he had tied the 
handkerchief in a hard knot at which he was 
tugging away. He was about to thank her, but 
stopped abruptly, and put both hands up and felt 
of his shining pate upon which Aunt Molly’s gaze 
had tormentingly settled. 

'Twas all right there, and soon his usual com- 
plexion replaced the turkey-red that his face be- 
came when attention had been directed to his neck 
gear. 

“It is too bad to treat a ‘friend’ so coolly as 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


213 

you do, Aunt Molly,” Lucile Delmore remarked. 
“But how good-naturedly he takes it!” 

“I spose I oughtn’ter; but it roils me all up ter 
see the way a man, old er young, will almost 
break his neck a-huntin’ up a woman afore she’s 
tied to him; but arfterwoods, she kin travel ter 
Hackensack an’ back, alone, best she kin, fer aught 
he cares. It beats my time.” 

“But, Aunt Molly,” said Violet, “you cannot 
expect a man to keep on shaking a tree, after the 
choice apple that he wanted has fallen into his 
hands.” 

“Most on ’em does, though, so’s ter git anuther 
apple ter tumble,” replied the astute observer of 
human nature. 

After the gentlemen had returned from smok- 
ing, an hour or more of music passed swiftly by. 
Then Brother Bradley induced Uncle Billy to 
give some reminiscences which finally led to his 
telling of the old-time singing school that he at- 
tended in Mapleton when Walt Whitman taught 
“Deestric’ school” there. 

“That warn’t so many year ago, nuther: ’bout 
sixty, I reckon.” 

“Then mebbe,” said Aunt Molly, “sence you 
went ter singin’ school, you could entertain us 
now.” 

“Yes, yes!” “Do!” “Uncle Billy!” “A call 
for Mr. William Hawkins !” exclaimed several. 

“That’s my name ; but I hain’t here,” responded 
that gentleman. “Why, I never sung but once, out 
in our woodshed; an’ then my mother heerd the 
racket, an’ dropped the red-hot iron she was ironin’ 
a shirt with, an’ run out parst the shed an’ on ter 


214 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


the barn, thinkin’ the noise come from one of the 
cows that must of been tooken sick sudden, an’ 
was groanin’! 

“Arfter that setback, I done my singin’ with 
jes’ words, an’ no music. 

“I ’member one day in school, Walt Whit- 
man, — folks called him the good green poet — er 
some - colored poet, — had me speak a piece,” — 

There was no further peace now for Uncle 
Billy. He simply had to comply with the re- 
quests that he recall that piece to memory and 
recite it. * 

He believed he could do his part toward enter- 
taining the others, if only Aunt Molly were not 
there to ridicule him. He looked at her, but she 
was complacently rocking, and admiring the roses 
in the border of the wall-paper, oblivious, appar- 
ently, to all else. 

In desperation, Uncle Billy arose and stepped 
forward so suddenly, he tripped, and lay sprawl- 
ing upon the floor. 

“Babes giner’ly walk afore they talk,” she could 
not resist saying. 

Determined now to do the best he could, Uncle 
Billy stood in the archway, facing the company. 
All could see that he was brimful of fun, his black 
eyes twinkling as he shrugged his shoulders up 
till his ears were almost touching them ; and laugh- 
ing all the time as though he were enjoying an 
immense joke. Into his trousers pockets went 
the chubby hands; his body swayed from side to 
side, and finally Uncle Billy commenced; 



P. 215 


“ I intend ter have a wife 


























DADDY’S WIDOW 


215 


“Behold a little boy, five year old ! 

Who knows as much as any can, 

An’ soon expects ter be a man. 

I intend ter have a farm, 

An’ a nice house ter keep me warm. 

An’ how the ladies’ mouths will water, 
Ter hear me talkin’ ’bout the matter! 

I intend ter have a wife ” 

here he paused and looked sheepishly at Aunt 
Molly, who began rocking for dear life, and study- 
ing the fresco. 

Alas! Uncle Billy had forgotten the rest; and 
amid a silence, embarrassing to him, if amusing 
to the audience striving hard to repress their 
laughter at the situation, he repeated: 

“I intend ter have a wife, — ” 

Another pause — he could not find the missing 
word! His eyes scanned the ceiling, as though 
hoping to see it lodging there. Then his Adam’s 
apple seemed to choke him; but he again essayed 
the uncompleted couplet 

“I intend ter have a wife, — ” 

“That makes three on ’em!” came from the 
lode-star that had probably been the cause of the 
poor little man’s repeated failure; and amid a 
storm of applause, Uncle Billy, shaking his bald 
head despairingly, took his seat. 

It was next suggested that Aunt Molly favor 


2l6 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


the company; but she shook her head and posi- 
tively refused to comply. 

“You surely will not allow Uncle Billy to out- 
do you,” said Mr. Delmore. 

“No Uncle Billies about it. The on’y time I 
undertook ter recite, I balked wusser’n he did. 
My piece begun : 

‘Dont look at me with a critic’s eye!’ 
but being bashful, I s’pose was why, I got it: 

‘Don’t look at me with a cricket’s eye !’ 

“But that was long, long ago !” said Aunt Mol- 
ly, softly and slowly. And then, as though a long- 
unused string upon Memory’s harp had suddenly 
responded to her touch, she said, impressively: 

“When I reached home arfter the exhibition in 
school that day, I heerd a weeny voice of a new 
baby; but my mother’s eyes was closed an’ her 
lovin’ heart was stilled forever; an’ ter no child, 
man, ner woman, is life ever the same arfter 
Mother is gone!” 

A moment later, Mrs. Hilliard was at the piano, 
intending to play something that would dispel the 
sadness she feared might settler upon her guests. 
Before she touched the keys, Mr. Niles had stepped 
to her side and asked for a sweet old song with 
which all were familiar; and soon, with tender- 
ness that only an angel choir could have surpassed, 
all joined in singing: “What is Home Without a 
Mother?” 


CHAPTER XX. 


DRUG STORE CRONIES. 

Matthew Robertson, the coal dealer, was 
a character of the town. His boon companion, 
Adam Sword, a stumpy little chap with a squeaky 
voice, kept a drug store which Doctor Russell never 
patronized; consequently there was no love lost 
between the druggist nor his chum, the coal dealer, 
upon the doctor. 

Both Adam Sword and Matthew Robertson had 
called upon Anna Gray, who, learning their antip- 
athy to the Deveaus and Doctor Russell, raised 
herself high in their respect and appreciation, by 
admitting that her own opinions coincided with 
theirs; for since Edward Deveau had defied her, 
her boasted love for him had turned to hatred, 
and that feeling was intensified toward his wife. 

The “Weekly Chronicle,” published in an ad- 
joining town, obtained its Mapleton news from 
three sources, — the Post Office, the drug store, and 
the coal office. The last-named closed at six 
o’clock, and its proprietor, with several cronies, 
spent his evenings in the small apartment back of 
the drug store, where Mr. Sword was with them 
except when waiting upon a customer. 

Poker or pinochle engaged the men's attention 
till their usual time to gossip, which they did with 
a relish. Many a worthy woman’s reputation was 
217 


2l8 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


bandied in their unclean mouths, and so sullied, 
it required years to re-establish its rightful color. 

No customers tonight; and after several unin- 
terrupted games, Robertson pushed his chair back 
from the table and said: “Say, ’Dam, warn’t the 
Gray in here terday? I see her go by my office 
headed this way. Gosh ! what a stunner ! My ole 
woman arst me at supper ef I knowed who thet 
high-stepper was thet went by all harnessed. 
Course I never let on as I did. Don’t it beat all, 
how cur’ous wives is ter find out who their hus- 
bands knows?” 

“Sh ! Not so loud ! You forget I’ve got a wife 
in there,” said Sword, pointing to a room still 
further back. 

“That’s so; j>ut bless my garters ef anybody 
wouldn’t of! Think of your ketchin’ ’em so fast, 

1 — a bald-headed ole sinner as you be, too! Jes’ 
think, boys, one wife dies jes’ in time so’s he 
wouldn’t hafter put no Chris’mus gift in her 
stockin’; an’ the nex’ November this here Adam 
marries another woman ter cook his Thanksgivin’ 
turkey fer him. Two wives a year! How long’ll 
he keep that up! Me an’ my wife’s been married 
twenty year, so she says; an’ the ole gal’s a- jab- 
berin’ ’bout livin’ five more, so’s ter have a silver 
weddin’. Twenty-five year! Gosh, but it’s a 
devilish long spell ter be married only once !” 

Then the laundryman, nicknamed “Buster,” 
spoke: “Ef things p’int straight, an’ old Deveau 
gits another stroke an’ steps out, I bet Russell gits 
the widder; he’s been tryin’ at it ever sence he 
come ter Mapleton.” 

“All he wants is her acres! No man in his 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


219 


senses would want such a piece of porcelain for a 
wife. What’s she good for ?” queried the Brigham 
Young of Mapleton, familiarly termed “Sandy.” 

“Don’t yer b’lieve, now,” said Robertson, 
squinting his eyes to give himself a more knowing 
look, “but what they’s a secret understandin’ 
’tween ’em. The Gray told me, conferdential, — 
an’ I’d take her word quick as any man’s — thet 
Deveau hed a pretty lively time of it. Who knows 
but what Russell’ll help him ‘shuffle off his mor- 
tal coin,’ as the bible says?” 

“Where’d you ever see a bible?” asked “Buster.” 
“Didn’t know we had a parson ’mongst us.” 

“You don’t know ev’rything, sonny. I bought 
one, once, off of a peddler, so’s my wife, ’Melia 
Em’line Robertson Esq., could write her age 
down inter it, an’ when she dies, an’ so forth; an’ 
not spend all her time a-prinkin’ an’ a-thinkin’ 
she’s a spring lamb. See?” volunteered Robert- 
son. 

“Say, boys, let’s give Squipps a poser when he 
comes for news tomorrow. Let’s put in all we 
know, and what the Gray insinuated, and make 
the item interesting and spicy. Nobody will ever 
know who wrote it,” said Adam Sword, in his 
little penny-whistle voice. 

“Good ’nough !” said Robertson. “You write it, 
Sword; yer know the man thet writ the Bible, er 
some other poet er ruther, says, ‘The sword is 
mightier then the pen’; an’ we’ll send a marked 
copy ter ole Pill-box himself.” 

“You’re bright, Matt. And Sword, jist give 
that duck-trowsered minister a whack, too, while 


220 DADDY’S WIDOW 

you are at it,” advised “Buster,” with manifest 
delight. 

“O, I’m on to your little game; it’s to get me 
into the puddle alone. No, sirs ! Ain’t I just get- 
ting out of one scrape for telephoning the insur- 
ance company that Wakefield made a fire when 
his chimney was unsafe?” said Sword. 

“Why, I thought you wanted his daughter!” 
exclaimed “Sandy.” “I remember now, how she 
ignored you.” 

“Sh! Damn it; didn’t I tell you not to speak 
so loud? There’ll be the devil to pay if she hears 
that,” admitted the elastic-hearted druggist, point- 
ing toward the rear room. 

“But Wakefield on’y used thet chimbley when 
he hed ter make a fire blame quick, ’cause his wife 
hed pneumony, so the thing was tole ter me. An’ 
’twas you an’ yer darn little ‘hello,’ was it, thet 
give the poor insurance comp’ny the notice ! How 
much’d they give yer?” asked the matter-of-fact 
coal dealer. 

“Nothing! Of course not! I did not expect 
them to. But I had my reward, watching Wake- 
field lose time while he repaired his chimney by 
their orders. Here I keep a store right next door 
to him and can sell him stuff to cure his wife or 
to kill her, either way he likes. But he never 
patronizes me; he goes to ‘Holy Jack’s’ for medi- 
cine,” whined Sword. 

“Sandy” could not relinquish the prospect of 
wounding a good man and woman, which the pro- 
posed item for the paper, if accepted, would do. 
So he said: “You’re such a scamp, Matt, they’d 


DADDY’S WIDOW 221 

never suspect you; you write the article for 
Squipps.” 

“No, — you — don’t! Let ‘Buster’ do it; he’s 
got the biggest fist, ef he has got the littlest brains 
of any man in town,” announced the genial Rob- 
ertson. 

The circle now had narrowed down to “Sandy,” 
who, like all bombasts, was a coward. He had al- 
ways felt that he was intended for a Supreme 
Court judge. Assuming his wisest expression, he 
rendered this masterly decision: “Gentlemen, here 
are four slips of paper. I’ll put a cross on one of 
them, and whoever draws that piece, must write. 
Agreed ?” 

“Yep.” 

“Yare.” 

“Yes,” came from the others. Deftly substitut- 
ing a blank for the marked slip, “Sandy” tossed 
the four pieces in his hat, and then each man drew 
— a blank. Ah, “Sandy,” ’twas a shoemaker’s, 
not a judge’s bench, you might have aspired to ! 

“I met the Reverend an’ the saloon-keeper’s 
wife ridin’ as pretty as yer please, down thet ole 
road thet crosses the brook by Tom Ryan’s. 
There’ll be trouble in thet ah-h-hmen corner afore 
long. I wonder ef he repeats all the command- 
munts to her as they meander along!” said Rob- 
ertson. 

“Would you know ’em if you heard ’em?” 
queried “Buster.” 

“I know one fer sure ; an’ I alius live up to it,” 
Robertson replied. 

After the loud “haw, haw,” that Robertson’s 


222 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


statement occasioned had somewhat subsided, 
there was a stir in the rear room, and a large, 
bull-necked woman, fully six feet tall and weigh- 
ing more than two hundred pounds, opened the 
door, and looking upon the crowd, said : “If there’s 
to be any more fun here, I’m with you. ’Dam, 
trot out some of that hard cider you hid the other 
day, and we’ll drink the healths of all you men 
who keep the ten commandments !” 

“SufFrin’ Isr’al! We’ll have to drink out of 
thimbles,” responded “Buster.” “So goodnight, 
Sword; goodnight Mrs. Sword; goodnight!” 


CHAPTER XXI. 


THE TELEGRAM. AUNT MOLLY COMFORTS THE 
WIDOW. 

Doctor Russell had all along entertained the 
hope that the boy, Edward Watson Gray, was not 
Edward Deveau’s child, for he was reasonably 
certain that Anna Gray had added several years 
to the little fellow’s age; and so, after learning 
where Anna Gray’s home had been at the time the 
boy was born, (as she had been led into disclos- 
ing) he determined to go to the city and look at 
the birth register and also call upon the physician 
whom the register would state had recorded the 
birth. 

Mr. Deveau had made several trips to the city 
since his illness, and was pleased to receive a tele- 
gram reading: “Old friend and wife await you 

at hotel. Don’t fail early Friday.” This 

was signed “An Agreeable Surprise.” It was 
soon arranged that he and Doctor Russell should 
go in together on the day appointed. 

Thursday evening, Violet and her husband 
were alone, for Elva was away on a week’s visit. 
They sat in their cozy, pretty parlor and talked of 
their happy life. With her head upon his shoul- 
der, she said he had been the kindest of husbands, 
and that she could not recall one act of his that 
223 


224 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


had not had a thought of love for her in it. 

“And there never conies into your heart a wish 
that I were different; does there, Vi?” the hus- 
band asked. 

“Never; I am perfectly satisfied. Everyone 
can see that I am, for I have not a shadow of an 
approaching wrinkle, nor one gray hair, and I am 
past thirty-four, you know. Something makes 
me unusually happy tonight. I feel like singing; 
shall I?” 

“Do, dear; you know what song I prefer.” 

So Violet sang for him his old favorite : 

“When other lips and other hearts, 

Their tales of love shall tell.” 

When she had finished, her husband said : “You 
sang it very sweetly, dear. It does not bring the 
accustomed sadness tonight; I wonder why!” 

“We are so filled with happy thoughts, there is 
no room for depression, I suppose. Tomorrow 
evening, if you should return without your friends, 
we will have another little reunion like this. Won’t 
it be pleasant? I will drive down to the depot, 
right by the platform steps, and await you when 
the train comes in.” 

“But if you are not feeling just right, do not 
come; I can ride home with Doctor Russell.” 

“I will be there. I want you all to myself. 
How happy our home circle is, with just you and 
Elva and me!” 

At the City Hall they parted, Doctor Russell 
going to the Bureau of Vital Statistics, and Mr. 
Deveau to meet his friends whom he decided must 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


225 

be Arthur A. Sicord and wife of Montana. He 
wondered if Sicord had been happy with the rich 
western girl he had married; but were she an 
angel in disguise, he knew that she could not com- 
pare in excellence with his Violet, who, ever since 
his illness, had grown daily more dear to him. 

“Any arrivals from the west?” he asked the 
clerk of the hotel. 

“None this week,” was the reply. 

Mr. Deveau scanned the register, and there, 
last upon the list, in letters seemingly of fire and 
a foot high, he read his own name! 

Then ere he had time to remove his gaze from 
the page, his arm was touched, and at his side 
stood Anna Gray. 

“Pardon me, I just registered for us both, as 
I was so sure you would come. I must see you at 
once. Come into the parlor.” 

What transpired between them, none ever knew, 
except that the gentleman was greatly excited, and 
abruptly rose to leave; while the woman was in 
tears. Going out the door to the street, he fell. 

“Apoplexy!” the bystanders said. 

“I am a physician; — let me pass!” demanded a 
firm voice, and Doctor Russell, making his way 
through the curious crowd, knelt beside his friend. 

Too late for earthly help! The heart of Ed- 
ward Deveau was stilled forever! 

The law being complied with, the remains were 
removed to an undertaker’s, after which Harold 
Russell returned to the hotel to learn all that he 
could of what had transpired there preceding his 
friend’s sudden, unexpected death. 


226 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


An attendant furnished the information : “The 
gentleman had arrived later than his wife, who 
had registered for them both. 

“They sat in the parlor and talked excitedly 
about a girl and a boy. A guest who passed quite 
close to them, said that the woman was begging 
the man to return to her, and threatening to expose 
him if he would not. He was very decided in 
refusing to comply with her request, and said, so 
suddenly and so loudly that several heard him: 
‘Do your worst!’ With that he left her. 

“ ‘I will, so help me God !’ she exclaimed as she 
started after him, forgetting to pick up her small 
satchel, which we will deliver to the authorities, if 
she does not return for it.” 

“Are you sure,” asked Doctor Russell, “that 
there was not a third party, — another gentleman? 
The telegram that my friend received, said there 
was to be.” 

“Positive! and that is another thing; I heard 
the woman say: T telegraphed for you/ and the 
gentleman looked surprised, and angrily asked : 
‘You?’ ” 

Doctor Russell went to look at the hotel regis- 
ter, where he read: “ Edward Deveau and zvife!” 
The assurance of the writer amazed him ! 

Turning to the clerk, he said: “I want to do 
something that may be contrary to your rules. I 
am speaking to you in the strictest confidence. 
Have you a zvife?” 

“The best on earth !” replied the man. 

“Then by your love for her, let me erase the 
name written here. A gross injustice has been 
done to another wife, as loving and as trusting as 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


227 

your own. Her heart will almost break tonight. 
For God’s sake let me avert having her killed out- 
right r 

As the clerk purposely turned his head. Doctor 
Russell added two more letters to the name De- 
veau, and then, with a drop of ink, made the other 
letters illegible. 

Next, the doctor sent a telegram, carefully 
worded, to Mrs. Hilliard, bidding her prepare Vio- 
let for sad news; and one to Elva calling for her 
immediate return to Mapleton. 

Doctor Russell had, from the first, believed that 
the woman who enticed Edward Deveau from his 
home, was none other than Anna Gray ; and when 
he was permitted to examine the satchel that had 
been left, he was in no need of further proof, for 
in it was a letter addressed to “Master Edward 
Watson Gray.” 

From that instant, Harold Russell felt that he 
was Violet’s protector. He would shield her with 
his life; and never should she learn of the rela- 
tions her husband had held with Anna Gray. 

Violet a widow! Frail, sweet Violet! She 
should now know what it was to have a brother 
who would care for her so tenderly that never 
again should sorrow enter her life while he lived! 

Returning to Mapleton, as he neared the sta- 
tion, Doctor Russell realized more deeply his great 
responsibility. He had broken sad tidings to many 
an anxious, bereaved one; but the present instance 
required all his fortitude. 

Right by those steps was where Violet prom- 
ised her husband she would be sitting in the car- 


228 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


riage waiting for him, — so Edward Deveau had 
said that morning. 

There sat Larry; he had not heard the news, 
though a rumor had reached Mapleton that some- 
thing, no one knew exactly what, had happened 
to Mr. Deveau. 

Tears ran down Larry's dark cheeks when Doc- 
tor Russell told him the terrible truth; and he 
said his heart was aching so, it was all but leaving 
his body. 

“Oh, Massa Hard' ! ef Ah could on'y be white, 
jes' fo' one day, to comfoht dat pore liT Missee 
Elba, the Massa Above could take all the res' ob 
mah brack life!" 

Juliet opened the front door, and said: “We're 
hopin' fo' good news, now you've come, Doctor 
Russell." 

“All right, Juliet; — where is Mrs. Deveau? 
Did she see me come in the gate?" 

“Yes, sir; she was watchin'; an' Mis' Hilyer 
cannot get her to eat, ner narthing." 

“You bring Mrs. Deveau a cup of cocoa and 
some toast, and any nice little thing for luncheon, 
as quickly as possible." 

“Come right up, Harold, we are here," called 
his sister, and Doctor Russell went upstairs. 

Violet looked like a snowdrop, so white and 
fragile, as her big, blue eyes met his, with pa- 
thetic inquiry. 

“How are you, Mrs. Deveau? I came on hur- 
riedly, for I knew you would be anxious. Not a 
word, however, until you have eaten something, 
for Juliet tells me you have had no luncheon." 

From her brother’s enforced calmness, Mrs. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


229 

Hilliard knew that there was nothing to hope ; and 
also that it was her duty to adopt his course. 

Violet calmly asked: “Was it another stroke ?”' 

“Yes, Mrs. Deveau; but I will say no more 
until you have eaten.” 

Poor Violet struggled hard to eat her toast and 
chicken, and to drink a little of the cocoa ; and then 
Harold Russell motioned to his sister to sit closer 
to her. 

After noting that restoratives were at hand, 
Doctor Russell said : “I regret to have to tell you 
that Mr. Deveau had a bad attack this morning, 
and fell, as he was leaving the hotel. I was not 
there at the time, but reached him a minute later. 
It might have occurred had he remained at home. 
I am glad I was there, even if late.” 

“And you saved his life?” 

A big bunch came in Harold Russell’s throat, 
and a mist before his eyes. With implicit faith in 
his skill, Dorothy knew he was evading the reply 
to Violet’s question. Violet did not notice it, 
however, and asked: “Will he be home in the 
morning? I will meet him; I promised to.” 

Dorothy’s heart was bleeding, and she cried 
impulsively : “Harold, tell her ! Don’t deceive her. 
Violet, darling, he cannot tell you, so I must. 
Your husband went to heaven this morning, and 
is released from all pain and sorrow forever more ; 
and God wants you to bear up and live for Elva’s 
sake, till He calls you, tool” 

Dot, almost hysterical, was stroking Violet’s 
face, when the latter said: “I don’t understand! 
Where is Edward? Where is my husband? I 
want him; I need him!” 


230 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


Doctor Russell fixed an opiate. “Take this, 
please, Mrs. Deveau,” he said as he passed it to 
her. 

Violet obeyed, and then they placed her upon 
the couch, as they would have placed a child, and 
she asked bewilderedly : “You will call me when 
Edward comes home, will you not?” 

“Yes, darling-, we will,” replied Dorothy, whose 
tears were falling fast. 

“I don’t understand — ” Violet began, and then 
she dozed off, gradually. 

A telegram came from Elva, saying she would 
be home on the first train, but that would not 
arrive until tomorrow. 

Word had been sent to Aunt Molly, who imme- 
diately commenced making hurried preparations to 
go and remain with Violet as long as she might 
be needed. While getting together and packing 
up a few necessary articles, the old lady expressed 
her thoughts aloud: “I knowed it would come; I 
knowed it! ’Twas God’s Own Hand that felled 
him. Many a tree that looks perfect outside, has 
a crooked, holler spot in its heart, an’ gits toppled 
over when a blarst comes; an’ Edward Deveau 
tumbled at a blarst from old Gab’rel’s horn. 

“Poor Violet; my poor, wilted Violet? But I’ll 
bet a cookey that that Gray woman had a finger in 
it, ef not her hull fist. Guess I’ll take the night- 
gownd with the ruffled neck, — no, the one with 
edgin’ down the front looks best onter me. 

“Ah, Polly, what did I tell yer larst week? 
Didn’t I see in my mind-picter a big man a-quar’- 
lin’ with a light complected woman? An’ didn’t 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


231 

I then see a widder? Does Satan himself paint 
them picters? Does seem so. 

“Many a time I’ve heerd Edward Deveau pray 
jes’ as ef he meant it, — ‘Lead us not inter tempta- 
tion.’ God fergive us all what pray sech a insult 
ter Him ; an’ then rub it in by callin’ it His prayer ! 
As ef He’d lead us inter temptation! Ah, don’t 
tell me that part warn’t put there by some people 
a-puppose, so’s that when they sinned they could 
charge it up ter their heavenly Father! 

“An’ hunderds of men pray that, an’ then git 
up off their knees ter go an’ rob the poor, ter 
drink rum, or ter make artificial love. Oh, the 
wicked cussednuss some on ’em hankers arfter! 

“Now, goodbye, Tommy. Go to bed early, — 
you’ve no sorrer but cat-sorrer, an’ that oughtenter 
keep you awake nights. 

“You’re all right, Polly; I’ll be home in the 
mornin’. Le’s see! Got my brush an’ comb, a 
pretty plate fer Elva, an’ the jelly fer Violet, an 
three hankerchers, an’ — yes, got my new teeth in. 
Guess that’s all.” 

When Violet awoke, she saw Aunt Molly be- 
side the couch. Still dazed, she asked: “Where 
am I? Have I been away? Where is Elva? 
Where is Edward? Oh, I remember; he is com- 
ing home tonight. I shall go alone to meet him! 
I shall — Aunt Molly, — Edward, — Oh, my God!’* 

Then from the eyes that Edward Deveau had 
always thought so beautiful, tears he could not 
see, fell as pearls fall when the silken string that 
joined them has broken. 

As Violet’s sobs increased in intensity, Doctor 
Russell and his sister both started toward the 


232 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


couch, but Aunt Molly held up her hand and mo- 
tioned them back. Then down upon her knees 
the old lady knelt beside the couch, and bent her 
head until her silvery hair touched the golden 
tresses of the widowed Violet; and swallowing a 
sob, Aunt Molly, in trembling tones, said softly: 

“My child, I know it all. Yes, some day you 
will ‘go alone ter meet him/ as I must go alone 
ter meet Daddy. It’s on’y a short trip, an* as we 
tremblin’ly step inter the Dark Valley, the angels 
on t’other side’ll pick up their harps an’ git ready 
ter play their sweetest music ter welcome us inter 
the heavenly light. An’ there we’ll find our loved 
ones a-floatin’ back an’ forth, waitin’ ter greet us 4 
an 

“But, oh, Aunt Molly! Not a single word of 
farewell from him!” 

(f Farewell! Course not! Like in a lightnin’ 
flash he was where there is no farewells, but on’y 
jes’ welcomes!” 

“Tell me the particulars; tell me all. Please 
do; I can bear it,” Violet sobbed. 

“There warn’t many perticklers, dearie; on’y 
that God jes’ whispered, ‘Come unter Me!’ an’ ter- 
night, at the roll-call Up Yunder, when the beau- 
tiful angel calls, ‘Edward Deveau !’ your husbun’ll 
answer, ‘Here !’ An’ that’s all the perticklers, my 
child.” 

The doorbell, not yet muffled, now rang loudly. 
Doctor Russell himself went down to answer it, 
and saw Anna Gray just being shown into the 
parlor. 

Without giving Her time to speak, or even re- 
turning her bow, he said : “Madam, you cannot see 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


233 

Mrs. Deveau. Her husband is dead, and the police 
are now inquiring for the person in whose com- 
pany he was last seen, at a hotel. No further in- 
formation is it necessary for me to eive you, except 
to state that the satchel can he had by its owner, 
whose name may be made public when a letter is 
opened, when she calls and proves her property.” 

Stung! crushed! dazed! her cheeks and lips 
ashen, bowing her head, without uttering a word, 
Anna Gray left the house. 

What did it all mean? She had left the hotel 
by one door, that morning, as Edward Deveau 
went out another; and she had intended awaiting 
him at the depot. She had hailed the first passing 
car, and was aboard and seated before she missed 
her satchel, which she thought best to leave at the 
hotel until she had her next interview with Ed- 
ward Deveau ; as to return then for the bag, might 
mean to miss the man. 

But how was it? Did Edward Deveau die in 
the street, by his own hand and through fear of 
her? By accident, or how? She could not return 
to his house and ask. She had gone there full of 
brazen defiance, to make a statement to his wife, 
that she knew would almost deprive her of her 
reason, only to learn that officers of the law were 
searching for her! If she had a heart, it must 
break now! 

She hurried along, shrinking up close to the 
shrubbery that bordered the road, as though she 
were some animal of which hunters were in pur- 
suit. She would soon reach her waiting carriage, 
drive hastily home and barricade doors and win- 
dows. To whom in her trial could she appeal for 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


234 

protection? Edward Deveau was dead. With' 
his last breath he had scorned and defied her , and 
loved his wife! that was the hardest part of it 
all! She would revenge herself upon that wife, 
she hated her so, by compelling her to make res- 
titution, as she would term it, to her boy, Edward, 
for the loss of his father ! 

In one way she would immediately profit by the 
man’s death : — “Dead men tell no tales,” nor do 
they deny tales told by the living ! 

The weak-minded woman who had supplanted 
her in the affections of the only man she had ever 
cared for, should be compelled to share her daugh- 
ter’s inheritance with the son of the father of both 
children. That would be the price of the silence 
of the woman that father had dared to scorn! 

The day of the funeral will long be remem- 
bered in Mapleton. The stores, with the excep- 
tion of Adam Sword’s, were closed, the flag on the 
Academy was at half mast, and the bells of the 
village’s three other churches tolled as the funeral 
procession passed them on its way to the church 
up whose aisle Edward Deveau had so firmly and 
so proudly walked, whose threshold he would to- 
day cross for the last time. But for the emblems 
of mourning, in the edifice, one would think it 
had been decorated for a wedding, so profuse was 
the floral display. 

Violet entered the church, leaning upon the arm 
of the Presbyterian minister, who had begged to 
be of service to her; and Elva followed them up 
the aisle, with Richard Carghill at her side. 

Silently the pews began to fill. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


2 35 

“ T am the Resurrection and the Life/ ” came 
in full tones from Brother Bradley; but his voice 
broke then; while men wept, and women sobbed. 

Mrs. Hannock, the choir’s contralto, sweetly 
sang Johnson’s “Face to Face/’ the emotion in 
her heart adding to the pathos in her voice. 

After recounting the many virtues of the de- 
ceased, and citing acts of kindness until then 
known only to the recipients, Brother Bradley 
prayed fervently for the widow and the fatherless. 

A moan from Violet caused Doctor Russell, 
who with his sister sat in the pew just behind her, 
to raise his head and watch lest she swoon. 

When that soul-piercing ordeal of taking a last 
farewell came, many of the people could not 
remain and witness Violet’s anguish. Twice she 
made an effort to start, but sank back. Then, with 
a final effort, leaning heavily upon the Reverend 
Doctor Seaford’s arm, she went. Every breath 
was as hushed as that of the dead, while the widow 
gazed at those loved features, but saw them not; 
and then with a heart-broken cry of agony: “Oh, 
Edward! come back!” she lost consciousness. 

She was carried to an open window, and Doctor 
Russell applied restoratives. 

Then Elva leaned over the casket and kissed 
her father goodbye, forever. 

At the grave, Doctor Russell and Mrs. Hilliard 
persuaded Violet to return to the carriage before 
the harrowing sound of the first shovelful of earth 
fell upon the coffin; and soon the long procession 
of carriages drove away from the cemetery, leav- 
ing all there was here of Edward Deveau, to his 
quiet sleep alone in his narrow bed, beneath the 


236 DADDY’S WIDOW 

reverently-placed coverlet of roses, lilies, and car- 
nations. 

Long past midnight, Harold Russell was still 
going over each incident in his acquaintance with 
both Edward and Violet Deveau, scanning every 
nook of his conscience, to see if it would bear the 
searchlight of self-accusation. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


sister annie's pneumonia with an “n.” 

Even Aunt Molly was no greater enemy to dirt 
and dust, than was Uncle Billy's sister, Annie 
Hawkins, a tall, angular, thin-lipped and sharp- 
nosed old maid of about Aunt Molly's own age; — 
though what that lady’s age really was, would be 
difficult to determine from the lady’s own variable 
statements. Not that she wished to conceal a year 
or so; but because she considered it would be a 
waste of time to compute with accuracy what 
would neither interest nor benefit the curious. 

As Uncle Billy stood on his doorstep one day, 
he was surprised that no sharp voice commanded: 
“Wipe yer feet or, “shake yer coat !” And well 
might he be, for Annie lay, pale and quiet, on the 
dining room lounge. 

“Did yer tumble, er somethin'? Got a fever?” 
asked the frightened little man. “You be takin’ 
some smellin’ salts whilst I run fer the doctor.” 

“I wants no doctor yit. All arfternoon I've kep' 
wishin' fer Aunt Molly ter come, so's ef I die, I 
kin show her where things is kep' ; fer I spose her 
an' you'll marry some day er never, an' you'll 
fetch her here ter live with yer.” 

“I carn't say fer sure that she’ll come to yer ; yer 
know you made her so mortal mad 'bout that hair 
yer sent her.” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


238 

“But she must come ! You mus’ take her a note, 
tellin’ how low I be.” 

“Got it writ? Where is it?” 

“You’ll hafter write it, ’cause my lungs is so 
sore.” 

“You know I carn’t write no better’n a turkey 
gobbler kin!” 

“But you must, William; it’s my larst request /” 
said Annie, dwelling mournfully on the last two 
words. 

So frightened, that he was nearer death than his 
sister was. Uncle Billy tried to hold the pen be- 
tween his chubby fingers. First the rusty nib made 
a blot, which, with his left thumb, he drew across 
the paper. Then his pen refused to make another 
mark. 

Forgetting that an occasion existed for his writ- 
ing, and thinking only of his failure, Uncle Billy 
irritably asked : “Got a slate an’ pencil ? I carn’t 
write with this club.” 

“They’s a lead pencil ’hind the settin’ room 
mirror. Got it? Thank the Lord! Now write 
an’ say ‘poor Annie’s got pneumonia.’ ” 

“Carn’t spell the darn thing. How’s it go? 
Won’t sumpin’ easy do jes’ as good till she gits 
here? I kin spell fits !” 

“N, — n, — I don’t know an’ I don’t care, how 
yer spell it; on’y say I’ve got it bad, an’ want her 
ter come an’ be friends afore — afore I — I die,” 
Annie sobbed, and the tsound impressed Unde 
Billy that her case was serious if not hopeless. 
Annie cry ? Never before had he known of her 
doing such a thing. She must be near death ! And 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


239 

yet she was too contrary to have the physician 
called ! That was the Hawkins of it ! 

“Then take it, an’ fetch her along back with 
yer,” Annie continued. 

“Huh? She’ll give me e a long back ’ fer dastin’ 
ter arsk her ter come; but I spose I’ll hafter ef 
you’re so sick, — an’ so sot” he could not help 
adding, softly. But Annie did not hear. 

“Don’t let me talk any more now; I’ll live till 
yer git back, ef yer run,” she panted. 

Without completing the letter, Uncle Billy hur- 
ried away. 

Certainly, she would do her duty by a woman 
who was dying; still, not until Uncle Billy had 
assured her that such was Annie’s condition, did 
Aunt Molly consent to go. 

An hour later, when Annie opened her eyes, 
it was to see her brother’s intended wife, whom 
she had never liked, even in childhood, bending 
over her and saying: 

“Her tempertoor ain’t bad ; stick yer tongue out, 
Ann ! Pretty thick coat on it fer this time of year, 
but lively lookin’. Guess you’re more skairter’n 
hurt. You’ll come ’round all right. I’ll stay 
awhile ef yer want me ter.” 

“Yes, do. I’ll die ef yer leave me, I know I 
shill. Yer don’t hold no grudge now, do yer?” 

“Nary a one; life’s too short. You’ve got too 
much ’round yer, — you’re not cold; lemme take off 
this top blankit ; yer don’t need it no more’n a cow 
needs two tails. I never dremp of your enjoyin’ 
poor health.” 

“Is the doctor cornin’?” 


240 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Cornin' ? How the ole scratch do yer spose he 
knows yer want him, when yer wouldn’t let Uncle 
Billy git him? What do yer want of him? You’d 
look pretty, entertainin’ a doctor now, — wouldn’t 
yer?” 

“Ain’t I awful sick?” 

“Not a bit of it!” 

“I thought mebbe I oughter send fer a specialler 
from the city, ter tell what’s the matter of me.” 

“Specialler rats ! Don’t you know that a special- 
ler would charge you a hunderd dollars? That’s 
his fust little play. Then next he’d look at yer 
through a kind of glass bottle, an’ say yer’d been 
eatin’ clams er eyesters, an’ had swallered typhoid 
ge’ms. Then he’d fly up an’ say he must" hurry 
back home, ’cause he has a woman waitin’ fer 
him with suspended ammunition. The last act is 
goodbye ter him an’ yer hunderd dollars. 

“No, no; you don’t need no doctors; I’ll fetch 
yer ’round all hunky dory. Now I know what I 
say,” — the sick woman looked amazed, — “an’ I’m 
nuther drunk ner crazy.” 

“Are you well?” 

“Certainly. I don’t have no time ter be no other 
way. Course, I find I carn’t do as much as I use- 
ter could; but what I carn’t do, I jes’ set down an’ 
rest out. 

“Now here’s some anecdotes powders I got two 
year ago, when I was so wakey, nights. You 
swaller this one, an’ you’ll sleep like a new-born 
babe in five minutes. There! You’re ever so much 
better a’ready! never see yer so lamb-like in all 
my life!” 

Uncle Billy had stood by, in open-mouthed 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


241 


amazement, marvelling at the meekness with which 
his spirited, cranky sister trustingly swallowed 
the powder. TJhen at Aunt Molly’s beck he fol- 
lowed her into the kitchen, where she announced: 

“It’s nuthin^ but a ‘tackt of narves ; pure narves. 
She’s felt the bad weather; lately the air’s been 
jam full of humility, an’ it’s upsot her. But you 
needn’t wobble yer eyes so ’cause I used a big 
word; humility is on’y the doctor’s name fer 
presp’ration in the air. The th’nometer in here is 
eighty ; but the humility may be a couple of hun- 
derd.” 

Host and guest talked for half an hour, in sub- 
dued tones, when suddenly there came a scream 
from the next room. Both rushed in. 

“What is it, Annie?” Uncle Billy asked, solici- 
tously. “Yer must of had a dream.” 

“No dream ’bout it! I haven’t slep’ a wink! 
Oh, it’s come! I’m a-dyin’; I’m a-dyin’ !” 

“Dyin’ fiddlesticks! Yer look as well as ever, 
on’y yer narves, I tell yer, has got out of kilter. 
Don’t act so childish at your time of life ! Show 
some sense!” commanded Annie’s sister-in-law- 
elect. 

“I — I feel better now; but ef anuther ’tackt 
comes on, I’ll go off in it, sure pop. Oh, ef my 
will was on’y made !” 

“Quit yer worryin’ bout that; jes’ leave all ter 
me, an’ I’ll fix yer so yer won’t know yerself from 
Adam’s off ox!” 

That the requested reconciliation was for a tem- 
porary cessation of hostilities, only, was shown by 
Annie’s testily responding to her prospective sis- 


242 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


ter-in-law: “O, certainly! Leave all ter you, an’ 
you’ll -fix me ; course yer would !” 

Quite exhausted, Annie fell back upon the pil- 
low, and submissively swallowed another powder, 
which soon produced the desired effect. 

Uncle Billy had gone into the kitchen, where he 
had sunk, pale and trembling, into a chair. 

When Aunt Molly saw him, she hesitated 
whether to express sympathy or surprise, and then 
deciding that the latter would prove more effective, 
she said: 

“Skairt, be yer ? It’s late fer woodchucks ; seen 
yer own shadder? I’m s’prised at yer! Where’s 
yer pluck? I see some Liddy Pinkum’s Com- 
pound on the shelf; better take some. You’ve 
never seen no real sickness, so a mere play at it 
scares yer.” 

“Mebbe so; I guess you’re right,” responded 
Uncle Billy, with a relieved sigh. 

After the engaged couple had had their supper 
in the kitchen, where they could hear Annie’s long, 
even breathing, Uncle Billy unburdened his mind : 
“Afore you come, she was so sick I thought every 
minute she’d die onter my hands. She wanted me 
ter tell yer how she wanted her funeral; an’ said 
you’d find her white muslind waist an’ her white 
silk s’roud in the bottom of the ole blue chist in 
the spare chamber, ” 

“Lorgeons!” exclaimed Aunt Molly, throwing 
up her hands, while an expression bordering on 
disgust swept over her face. “I wouldn’t of 
wanted her duds! Now looker here, Uncle Billy; 
when you see me a-sportin’ ’round in an old maid’s 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


243 

white silk s’roud, you git a guardian ’pointed fer 
me, quick!” 

“No, no; not that; she wanted ter wear ’em her- 
self, to the funeral. An’ she wanted ter be sure 
there was music, — singin’, I persume; an’ I prom- 
ised her you’d sing.” 

“Thanks; I’d whistle ‘Yankee Doodle’ instid. 
But you did wrong ter chip in with her idee; you 
oughter of larffed it off, er turned it ’round some- 
how.” 

“Could I be sech a brute as ter larf at my sis- 
ter who lays a-dyin’, when she begs fer music to 
her funeral? What could I say?” 

“Dyiri! Bosh! Them kind of folks never dies 
when they say they will. Ef I’d of been there, I’d 
of warbled, ‘Yes, dear; you shall have music, even 
ef I hafter squeeze a cat’! That would of made 
her so mad, she’d of got up an’ heaved somethin’ 
at our heads, an’ fergot she wanted ter be thought 
sick. 

“What she needs is ter go out more, an’ visit 
folks, an’ have comp’ny. Livin’ lonesome fattens 
the doctor’s pocketbook more’n anything else on 
airth, ’cept temper. 

“Now soon’s she wakes up I’ll soak her feet an’ 
give her a punch, — ” 

Uncle Billy started, though he had never heard 
Aunt Molly called a pugilist; and the sudden 
movement enlightened his guest as to the inter- 
pretation her remark had received. So she quali- 
fied it: 

— “ a milk punch, arfter I git her inter bed, an’ 
then I’ll go home.” 


244 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Go home? No, don’t. I thought you’d stay 
a spell. I — I don’t — feel quite well.” 

“Yer look splendid; never saw yer look weller;” 
announced his companion. 

“My face may look all right, but I may hafter 
have a doctor afore mornin’ ef you leave me. I’m 
all swelled up an’ I feel like a pizened pup.” 

“Ef them’s yer symptoms, you won’t need no 
doctor ; what you want’ll be a vet’nary surgeon.” 

Sick or well, Uncle Billy had to join in a laugh 
with Aunt Molly; and at its termination, Annie 
awoke, and received the treatment Aunt Molly 
had mapped out for her. Then she acquiesced in 
her brother’s suggestion that she remain alone 
with Ponto, while he escorted Aunt Molly home. 

The next morning, Annie washed the break- 
fast dishes, and sang the doxology to their rattling 
accompaniment. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


“town ’lection.” “three cheers for aunt 

MOLLY !” 

During the Christmas holidays Doctor Russell 
turned his practice over to a brilliant young physi- 
cian in whom he had long taken a great interest; 
and declared that he would now settle down to a 
quiet life, as a simple, country squire. 

“We’ll have you for Justice, then, next year, 
sure ; if you won’t cure our ailments, you will have 
to settle our squabbles,” Mr. Porter had said to 
him; and from that, later on, there started a 
clamor for “Justice Russell!” 

“Town ’Lection Day,” promised to be a most 
exciting one this year. From the town hall, over 
to “the big store,” was stretched a thirty-foot ban- 
ner, inscribed: “He saved our lives, and he will 
save our town ! Hats off to Justice Russell !” and 
from the moment the banner was raised, every 
Russellite, as he passed beneath it, doffed his hat. 

The day at last arrived, — the first Tuesday in 
April. The opposition faction was headed by two 
well-known characters: — Matthew Robertson, 
who took charge of the rum-ites, and Epenetus 
Jones, who bought the nigger votes, his squinting, 
black eyes never missing a single woolly pate that 
tried to evade him. 

Carriages with coachmen in livery; buggies; 
245 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


246 

sulkies; farm wagons; and vehicles of every de- 
scription, continued to deposit voters at the polls. 

As a party of four convivial, bibulous souls were 
returning in a lumber wagon, straining their 
voices to drown the sound of the ponderous wheels, 
they passed Aunt Molly’s, and she heard them 
make this riotous boast: “I guy! ef Matt Robert- 
son ain’t up ter snuff ! He actu’ly made ole ’Leaze 
Hobbs b’lieve thet spring ’Lection hez been 
changed by law, from Tuesdy ter Wednesdy. An’ 
’en, b’gosh, he sends a gal the ole cuss is struck 
on, down thar ter keep him from seein’ folks ter- 
day, so’s they’ll be no chance of ’Leaze gittin’ in a 
vote fer Quack Russell, as he’s so fond of! Bully 
fer Robertson ! Three cheers fer Matt !” 

Robertson’s whiskey did that business. But 
was his the only smart head and thinking brain 
in town? 

As the four well-seasoned old babblers jolted 
along, a little lady put away the rake she had been 
using upon her lawn, hung up her garden hat and 
gloves, and flurried into her kitchen. 

Two o’clock! Not an instant to lose! Hur- 
riedly putting on her best bonnet and wrap, with- 
out waiting to remove her calico dress, she went 
to the livery stable. The proprietor was at the 
polls; but his man hired her a gentle horse, and 
when it was harnessed, Aunt Molly, with the dex- 
terity of a girl, sprang into the carriage, took the 
reins, chirruped to the horse, and away she 
drove; — past the brook that was spanned by the 
bridge beneath which the trout in April swam on 
to where the sportsman awaited it at the river; — 
past the bridge across which in November, tfis 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


247 

deer, pursued by hunters and hounds, bounded 
along, terror-stricken, to a temporary shelter; — 
past the very spot where Daniel Webster caught 
the fish that, cooked and served by a gentle dame 
in her red farmhouse near the mill, gave nourish- 
ment to his gigantic brain ; — on through the 
woods, across “the neck,” and then, letting down 
two pairs of bars, Aunt Molly drove into a back 
lot and followed the lane up to Eleazer Hobb’s 
door. 

There sat the old man, by the side window. 
The girl Robertson had sent there, came running 
back from the barn where she had gone to gather 
up the eggs. Aunt Molly paid no attention what- 
ever to her, but tied her horse and hurried into 
the house. 

“Come, Uncle ’Leaze, git yer things on an' git 
ter the polls an’ vote, like a man!” 

“I be go’n’ ter, termorrer ; course I be ! What’s 
a-bitin’ you?” 

How could Aunt Molly have expected a kindly 
greeting, when she was interrupting an old man’s 
flirtation? 

“Termorrer? You mean nex’ year! Why, 
ev’ry man fer miles ’round, has been votin’ all 
day, an’ here you set as ca’m as ef yer was a per- 
pared Millerite!” 

Uncle Eleazer was too old a bird to be caught 
by shaff winnowed by a woman’s tongue, so he 
shook his head and shut his eyes, while a silly, 
provoking smile wreathed his mouth. Aunt Molly 
saw it, and continued: 

“Come, now; there’s no time fer actin’ pretty; 
ef Doctor Russell ain’t ’lected, he’ll quit town 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


248 

from mort’fication, an’ ’twill be all your fault. Is 
this your return fer his savin’ you pain, an’ a-nuss- 
in’ofyer? Who’ll tend yer when he’s gone ? Not 
the new doctor, fer he’s no bigger’n a pint of pea- 
nuts, so they tell me. I tell yer, the men is all 
a-votin’ now , this very minute ; an’ whoever told 
yer this warn’t ’Lection Day, as it has been most 
ever sence the world was made, lied!” 

“O, no! Matt Robertson told me ’twas all 
changed. He oughter know better’n a woman. 
He come here larst night, — druv here a-puppose! 
Now!” 

“Smart, warn’t he! an’ lied a-puppose, too, 
soon’s he got here. Yer know he hates Doctor 
Russell wusser’n a skunk hates sunlight. Come, 
now! a man of your good sense not vote fer 
Doctor Russell? Why! it’s libel! It’s — it’s wus- 
ser’n breakin’ all the commandmunts ! Come 
longer me ; an’ ef I ain’t tellin’ the truth, I’ll deed 
yer my homestid-rufif afore termorrer’s sun goes 
down.” 

Aunt Molly’s last argument prevailed. She 
helped the old man into the carriage; and before 
they reached the polls, had him so incensed against 
Robertson for his contemptible trick, — no one 
knows how an old man loves to cast his vote, — 
that had Robertson asked him to vote for Doctor 
Russell, he would certainly not have complied. 

While Uncle Eleazer was voting, Aunt Molly 
drove up and down the road until he reappeared, 
and then she took him home. 

At sundown the booths were closed. At eight 
o’clock, when the result of the election was pro- 
claimed, guns were fired, bonfires were kindled, 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


249 


and the Mapleton brass band formed part of the 
torchlight procession that marched to Harold Rus- 
sell’s, and apprised him of his election. 

Almost before anyone knew how it was done, 
the broad piazza at lovely Cedarvale was decora- 
ted with flags and lanterns, and then the band 
played “The Star Spangled Banner.” 

As Harold Russell advanced toward the piazza 
steps, to more easily address his audience, the 
cheering was deafening; and Dorothy, who, with 
several other ladies, was with her brother on the 
piazza, felt so enthusiastic, she could scarcely re- 
frain from joining in the shouting. 

Judge Russell, in terminating his speech of 
thanks to the friends who had come to honor him, 
told of an incident of which he had just been in- 
formed, — of an old lady of three-score-and-ten, 
who had hired a rig and driven alone and taken an 
old man to cast what might be his last vote, — and 
added : 

“Gentlemen, when my majority was added to by 
such a never-to-be-forgotten episode as that, may 
my brain be paralyzed ere I render a decision that 
cannot meet the approval of the Judge Above. 

“You all know to whom I refer, do you not?” 

Then out upon the smooth lawn where Spring 
had recently spread her carpet of pale green, paus- 
ing in their dance with silvery moonbeams, the 
trees just budding out, nodded in graceful ac- 
knowledgment of the ringing 

“Three cheers for Aunt Molly !” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


HAROLD RUSSELL AT GRAY PILLARS. GOODBYE 
FOREVER. 

“Uncle Harold, what do you think of such a 
piece of cruelty as this, to inflict upon Mama? 
Poor Mama, who always feels so tenderly for 
everyone! I brought it here for you and Aunt 
Dot to read; and Mama would like to have your 
advice in regard to it. Shall she receive the 
writer ?” asked Elva, almost out of breath from 
rapid walking. 

Harold Russell took the letter Elva handed 
him, read it, hesitated, and finally decided to ap- 
pear totally in the dark respecting its mission; 
then he handed it to his sister. 

As Mrs. Hilliard read, her face flushed with 
anger. “What an inhuman act, to send an un- 
protected widow a communication like that! The 
writer ought to be tarred and feathered and have 
his hand cut off! It is surely a man's writing; 
isn't it, Brother?" 

“It certainly looks like it," replied Harold Rus- 
sell, his face growing whiter, and with an expres- 
sion of determination about his mouth, not in 
keeping with his slow, easy utterance. 

“Let me read it again, Elva," said Dorothy. 
“ ‘Mrs. Deveau, unless you grant me a private in- 
terview, I will make public some facts that will 
250 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


251 

make your head hang. No need to know who I am 
until I see you tomorrow evening/ 

“Harold, we must both be at Violet’s tomor- 
row evening, and all night, and have an officer 
there to arrest this anonymous writer. Elva, tell 
your Mama not to fear ; we will be with her, dear ; 
and I think you ought to send for Mr. Carghill, 
too.” 

Dorothy was a little disappointed that her 
brother so soon stopped speculating as to anyone’s 
motive in sending such a communication; and she 
marvelled when he rode away soon afterward 
without taking Larry along to drive for him. 

“Did you notice how pale Uncle Harold got as 
he read?” asked Elva. “He will attend to this 
business for us, I am sure. He will stop at our 
house on his way home, likely, and we had better 
be there to meet him; will you come now, please?” 

While Dorothy and Elva were hastening to as- 
sure Violet that there was nothing to apprehend, 
Harold Russell was driving rapidly toward Gray 
Pillars, where he tied his horse, sprang up the 
steps, and almost pulled the bell from its socket. 

He was at once admitted. 

“Miss Gray, I have called to see you on busi- 
ness, and will detain you but a short time.” 

The beautiful hostess did not look her best this 
afternoon, as she requested Judge Russell to be 
seated. 

The judge bowed, but remained standing. 
“You are probably not aware, madam, that my 
late friend, Edward Deveau, confided in full, a 
certain matter to me; and in anticipation of your 
attempting to intrude yourself or any conversa- 


252 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


tion of any nature whatever, upon his widow; or 
to further communicate by any means, with her, 
I have come here to say to you, don't you do it! 
I warn you!" 

How the listener’s eyes blazed! She had fully 
determined to have a share of whatever property 
Edward Deveau had left, if perjury could obtain 
it; never mind what the disclosures she must make 
might cost her; and if they crushed the widow, so 
much the better. 

“So soon?” she sneered; “not quite a year! 
Why not wait the conventional time before thus 
proclaiming your passion for the elderly widow?” 

“Since you have declared war, we will not mince 
matters. You have committed blackmail, — tried 
to force a widow to accede to your demand for 
money, in order to avert a scandal and preserve the 
unblemished reputation her husband enjoyed.” 

“Did he enjoy it? His son would like to enjoy 
what rightfully must come to him.” 

“He never had a son!” 

Though she felt the fire of scorn from Harold 
Russell’s eyes burn her own, the woman brazenly 
said : “/ will szvear that he zvas the father of my 
child, and you know it!” 

“7 know ” responded the caller, “that you will 
swear to anything , the falser the better, to gain 
your nefarious end. And I also know, as do you, 
that your attempt to rob both the living and the 
dead, even though you bestow your theft upon an 
innocent child, is the vilest, the most diabolical 
scheme ever invented by depravity!” 

“How dare you force an entrance and then in- 
sult me in my home! Leave the house! this in- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


253 

stant, sir!” and the woman stamped her foot and 
then looked hastily around the room as though in 
search of some object to hurl at her caller’s head. 

“Not yet, madam; I came here to tell you some- 
thing, and I will not be thwarted,” said Judge Rus- 
sell. Advancing a step, and deliberately tapping a 
forefinger upon the palm of his other hand, he 
said, with emphasis : “If you make any statement 
to Mrs. Deveau, send her any communication in 
any manner, I will see you locked behind prison 
bars before I am through with you!” 

“I see! You appoint yourself in God’s stead to 
care for the widow and the fatherless! How I 
wish I were a widow!” she sneered, as, clasping 
her hands upon her bosom, the creature looked up- 
ward in mock-innocence. 

“It would be better, madam, for your soul’s sal- 
vation as well as for this community, had you 
been even a wife!” exclaimed Harold Russell, an- 
grily. “Have a care that you are not arrested and 
under heavy bonds, even if freed temporarily, this 
very night !” 

“You should have studied law, instead of what 
drugs produce swiftest decay!” 

Judge Russell could scarcely refrain from for- 
cibly silencing the woman. To be thus defied by a 
creature as base as she! But her time in Maple- 
ton should be short. 

“Madam,” he said, “you are a menace to so- 
ciety. A committee will wait upon you tomorrow, 
and you had better respect their command, if you 
desire to leave town properly attired. I have with 
me a copy of the birth certificate of the boy you 
call your own, which I obtained while you were 


254 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


murdering Edward Deveau, — murdering him by 
statements more cruel than a knife-thrust, and as 
false as cruel. You will hear from others besides 
me, to-morrow.” 

More angered than ever before in his life, his 
face white with passion, and trembling so he could 
scarcely descend the stoop, Harold Russell left 
Gray Pillars. 

Driving rapidly home to Cedarvale, he went 
into his private office and spent an hour in deepest 
thought before deciding to ask co-operation of the 
town authorities in expelling Anna Gray from the 
county the following night. 

Acting upon his decision, the judge again en- 
tered his carriage and drove to the homes of 
various officials of the town; and to the honor of 
Mapleton be it said, every man consulted, prom- 
ised hearty co-operation. 

It was after midnight, and Harold Russell was 
retiring. There came a loud ring at the bell, and 
he hoped it was not a hurry-call for him, as the 
new doctor being out of town, someone might need 
medical aid and send for him. Of course he would 
go, but he was so tired/ 

'Anna Gray had sent, begging him to come and 
save her boy! 

What ! should he go to that woman, to save her 
from experiencing a heart-wrench, provided she 
were capable of sorrowing? He would not ! 

Yet the innocent lad should not be allowed to 
suffer; though doubtless it would be best for the 
little fellow to die ; ’twould also be retribution upon 
the wicked woman who had made Violet Deveau 
a widow ; and, not content, yet wanted to stab her 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


255 

by a false charge against her husband, Elva's 
father. 

But the boy was not to blame ; — the poor child 
might be in agony which medical aid could at 
once, almost, subdue. 

Yes, he would go immediately. 

Upon the top step of the piazza at Gray Pillars, 
Harold Russell picked up an unopened letter. He 
carried it into the house, and under the hall lamp 
he read the superscription, “Matthew Robertson 
Esq.” 

That letter was not on the piazza when Har- 
old Russell had left the place ten hours before ! Its 
owner must have been deeply preoccupied to not 
even have opened the missive, which bore date of 
two days previous. 

The maid asked Harold Russell to go upstairs; 
there, upon a bed, lay the little lad whose suffer- 
ings were nearly over. He had been ill several 
weeks ago, and was still weak, when, in trying to 
go down the stairs to kiss his mother goodnight, 
— she had been so deeply absorbed in entertain- 
ing a gentleman caller, that she had not responded 
to her child's request for her to come to him “just 
a minute ” — he had lost his balance and fallen to 
the bottom. The guest had carried him up and 
laid him upon the bed, and had promised that he 
would send Doctor Russell there at once. The 
child had moaned continuously since his fall, and 
had not regained consciousness. Harold Russell 
saw that he was beyond all human aid, and told 
Anna Gray so. 

“For the love of God, save him, doctor! I will 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


256 

do anything you ask of me! He is my only tie! 
He is my all! Save him, doctor, oh, save him!” 

A wave of pity sweeps over Harold Russell’s 
heart as the haughty beauty — not defiant now, but $ 
crushed, and pleading as only those can who know 
that they themselves are powerless to keep the 
treasure that is fast fading from them never more 
to return, — kneels at his feet. 

’Tis but for an instant; then, with the spring 
and the leap of a deer, she is again beside the bed 
as little Edward opened his eyes, and looking up- 
ward, said: “Mama, oh, Mama! don't leave your 
boy!” 

“He sees HER!” exclaimed Anna Gray. “Ed- 
ward, speak to me, darling, — don’t you know 
me?” 

“My other mama called me,” said the dying 
child. 

Anna Gray buried her face in the pillow and 
sobbed aloud. 

“Mama , — my Mama, dear, — and — Pa-pa — ” 

The child’s faint voice was but a whisper. A 
sweet, satisfied expression came over the dear 
little white face. Two little hands were extended, 
and then were lovingly grasped by those awaiting 
him upon the Other Shore, as Edward Watson 
Leeds passed Over the Border! 

After making out the certificate of death, Har- 
old Russell said: “Miss Gray, if there is anything 
I can do to assist you in your present trouble, I 
will do it. It is not often that a physician has with 
him a certificate of the birth and one of the death 
of the same child. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


257 


“You were to have been, ordered from town to- 
morrow night. Your departure can now be 
deferred until after the funeral of your sister's 
orphan child!" 

When the hearse bore the little coffin to the 
depot, Anna Gray followed in a closed carriage; 
and Mapleton never saw her again. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


WOMAN AND DONKEY. CRADLING BY MOONLIGHT. 

“Jes' git yer sun-umberrells, you an’ Elva, an’ 
come with me an’ see the beauti fullest sight! I 
wisht Daddy could of seen it afore he died ; mebbe 
he does see it. Tennyrate, Uncle Billy says it's 
grand; an" when he admires a thing, it’s either 
mighty good, er good fer nuthin\ I’m talkin' 
'bout that crimson clover to Doctor Russellses. 
It’s the gracefullest, gorgeousest sight! Jes' as 
lovely as all them grand dames an' knights of 
olden days was, a-dancin’ a minuet, in elegant 
royal crimson robes. 

“Come, now, my child, you stay alone too much. 
You must git out more, an’ liven up so’s ter be 
ready fer that ere weddin’.” 

“I try to, Aunt Molly," Violet responded, her 
lips quivering, and a suspicious moisture gather- 
ing in her beautiful eyes. 

“I spect yer do; yer’ve done noble so fur. Now 
no tears, — jes’ say ‘scat' to 'em, an' they’ll scam- 
per up'ards, stidder trinklin’ down yer nose. Come 
on !" 

An hour later Dorothy Hilliard was more than 
delighted to welcome her friends, more especially 
since in her brother's absence, Mr. Baylis, wearing 
a wide band of crepe around his hat (Mrs. Baylis 
258 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


259 

having died three months previously) had come, 
uninvited, for a visit 

His greeting to Elva was noticeably effusive; 
and on the way to the clover field, he managed to 
keep with her far enough behind the other ladies, 
so that his deluge of compliments was unheard by 
them. “Honors were easy," — neither could he 
hear the criticisms of those in advance. 

“Is Mr. Baylis a very old friend of yours, Dor- 
othy?" asked Violet; “I met him here but once, 
and I do not recall your mentioning him before 
nor since that time." 

“Really, Violet," admitted Mrs. Hilliard, “I 
cordially dislike the man. His father and mine 
were partners many years ago, but my acquaint- 
ance with him is slight. I know that his repre- 
hensible conduct with a seamstress, hastened his 
wife’s death. Why he should come here, unin- 
vited, to visit Harold and me, is inexplicable." 

“Do you ever look in the glass?" Violet in- 
quired, demurely. 

“Nonsense!" returned the handsome Dorothy. 
“What is your impression of the man. Aunt 
Molly?" 

“I hain’t throwin’ him no bouquets; an’ I was 
jes’ a-thinkin’, an’ ’plyin’ the thought ter him, 
how tickled them what hain’t got any grief in 
’emselves, must feel ter know that fashion lets 
’em buy it by the yard an’ wear it in a conspicyus 
place." 

“Human nature is an open book to you, I see," 
said Mrs. Hilliard, rather astonished, however, at 
Aunt Molly’s reading. 

“Mr. Baylis," Aunt Molly resumed, “gives me 


26 o 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


a horrid reck’lection of somebuddy, long ago, that 
I carn’t ’member. Now I know! Lorgeons yes! 
’twas ole Uncle Tommy Newton, when he was 
young; there’s the same tan-colored bristles on Mr. 
Baylises lip that Tommy had on hisn. Funny I 
fergot Tommy, when he was the fust man an’ 
come nigh bein’ the larst unconnected man that 
ever kissed me; fer oh,” the old lady shrugged her 
shoulders and shivered as though at some horror 
she had lived through, “oh, it was so turrible ! It 
sounded like scrub-oaks brushin’ ’ginst carriage 
wheels. 

“’Twas to a party where lots of us young gos- 
lin’s an’ snipes was a-playin’ cokenheggin; an’ 
soon’s the game was done, I flew ter look in the 
glass ter see ef some of them little porkerpine 
quills of hisn warn’t lef’ stickin’ inter the tip of 
my nose. 

“Now I don’t often git poetic; but did yer ever 
see how gentle an’ tender the wind kisses them 
clover blossoms? That’s what makes ’em blush 
that beautiful crimson, I ’spect. Warn’t this wuth 
cornin’ ter see, Violet?” 

“Indeed it is; I could watch it all day and not 
tire,” replied Violet. 

Elva and Mr. Baylis now joined them, and the 
latter said: 

“Mrs. Deveau, your daughter is the most origi- 
nal young lady I ever met ; so charming ! How is 
it that she has been permitted to remain secluded 
in a little Long Island town, when she should be 
shining like a star in the highest social atmos- 
phere in our land?” 

Before Violet could reply, a donkey, tied to a 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


261 


stake in the pasture lot adjoining the clover field, 
brayed loudly. The sudden, humorously dis- 
agreeable noise caused prolonged laughter from 
the ladies, their merriment being augmented by the 
frightened and disgusted glances that Mr. Baylis 
cast toward the animal that had thus fearlessly an- 
nounced that it was no eavesdropper. As it re- 
ceived no encore, the donkey was quiet after its 
first song ended, giving Violet an opportunity to 
reply to Mr. Baylis. 

“Because of her youth, and also of her devotion 
to her aged mother, I presume. Isn’t a life of self- 
sacrifice really the highest that one can live?” 

“In Miss Deveau’s case, it is a sin; she is de- 
priving some man of a rare possession.” 

That statement amused Elva. “I am glad you 
candidly admit the light in which some men regard 
their wives, — as their property , — placed one rung 
higher upon the ladder of their consideration than 
are their trotting horses; and that position ac- 
corded them merely because custom demands that 
it shall take longer to replace a wife, than a horse.” 

“Phew! now you are hitting us hard,” re- 
sponded Mr. Baylis, taken aback at the sudden 
home-thrust, and becoming for a moment speech- 
less, when Aunt Molly attacked him from the 
other side. 

“That was a rattler, warn’t it, Mr Baylis? 
Kinder stunted yer fer a minute, eh ?” 

“But, ladies, you will grant that matrimony is 
what every noble woman aims for; and it is nat- 
ural that she should. A woman’s true element is 
attained only when she is taking her part in the 
home, — gracing, beautifying, and purifying it.” 


262 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Now, Mr. Baylis,” said Dorothy, “you have 

drawn a more pleasing picture,” 

“But Natur’ beats it all holler,” Aunt Molly 
could not help interrupting. “I’ll show yer the 
best picter, Mr. Baylis; true ter life, too. Look 
sharp inter that other lot! — See the pole that that 
ere singin’ donkey’s rope is ’tached to? That rep- 
ersents matermony. The swivel is the weddin’ 
ring. See the rope ’round the donkey’s neck? 
That’s what’s pleasantly called the matermonial 
yoke. See it all? 

“Now lower yer eyes; — there’s a well-beaten 
and hard track that the poor critter’s hoofs have 
made, — it’s rope won’t let it take a step outsider 
that circle. Day in an’ day out, it’s the same ole 
track; an’ that narrer parth is the picter showin’ 
woman’s married life !” declared Aunt Molly, amid 
the laughter of her audience. 

‘‘Then why, pray tell me,” requested Mr. Bay- 
lis, shrewdly, “since women know what is before 
them, do they allow themselves to be attached to 
the pole in the first place?” 

“Cause some on ’em is jes’ donkeys ’nough ter 
do it, I spose; I’d blush fer ’em, ef I could.” 

“You certainly are the most” — Mr. Baylis be- 
gan; then he paused. “At any rate, it seems al- 
most sacrilege to send such sentiments broadcast 
over these beautiful fields. I can see that Mrs. 
Hilliard, too, is shocked at the atrocious compari- 
son. Will you not retract it, Mrs. — Mrs. ” 

“L’Hommedieu ! but that’s near ’nough; it’s a 
jaw-breaker ter pernounce, anyhow. One man 
’most bit a slice off his own palate tryin’ ter git my 
name right, once.” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


263 

The laughter that her remarks had occasioned, 
assured the old lady who had been putting forth 
her best efforts to cheer her favorite, Violet, that 
she had been successful. 

Just as the party were leaving the field, Elva 
turned and facetiously addressed Mr. Baylis : “Now 
I feel certain that every time you see a donkey, you 
will think of me, Mr. Baylis ; promise me that you 
will” 

“I could not be so ungallant, Miss Deveau; but 
I will promise never to allow the pleasure of our 
walk this afternoon to slip from my memory,” re- 
sponded the widower, with what he intended to be 
a tender glance. 

As they neared the barn, they heard a great 
commotion ; cows were bellowing ; pigs were 
squealing in their shrill staccato; ducks were 
quacking; chickens were squawking; turkeys were 
gobbling; and farther away, the peacock that 
strutted upon the lawn, screamed “1-ought-tzx ! 
l-ought-tev !” 

“It must be that the pigs have made a dash for 
liberty,” said Violet; “the men seem to be run- 
ning and laughing at the same time.” 

There was Johnson, whom the others had nick- 
named “Mike”; Bisford, whose alias was “Pat”; 
Warner, the stableman, and Everest, the florist 
and overseer, — all trying to catch the one refrac- 
tory pig that would not go into the pen with its 
comrades. 

“Open the gate and then leave the pesky thing 
alone, and he’ll go in quick enough at feeding 
time,” called Everest to the other men. 

“Yes; but how about the rest running out?” 


264 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


asked “Pat.” “There he is, Warner, almost at 
your knees! Ha, ha! you let him run right by 
you. I'll drive him back, and as he comes, if you 
grab for his chin whiskers, maybe you’ll manage 
to catch his tail.” 

While the men laughed harder yet, the pig 
scooted past them all and started for the top of 
the hill where it knew there were plenty of acorns ; 
but “Mike” got there first, and with arms ex- 
tended, headed him off and made him turn. 

Back toward the men the pig came bounding 
along, and Warner, making a dash for it, caught 
his own foot and fell sprawling in a mud-puddle. 

Everest, who came next, gave a leap and landed 
a-straddle of the pig’s back. It grunted and 
squealed, and, with one desperate effort, ridded 
itself of its burden, and left Everest sitting upon 
the ground. 

Then “Pat,” aiming for its ear, caught one of 
its hind feet and held on while the animal, upon 
three feet, almost dragged its captor to the pen, 
where “Mike” opened the gate, and the pig 
rushed in. 

“The two contrariest animals on earth, are a 
pig and a woman!” shouted Everest; and then 
as Elva’s merry laugh rang out, the men turned 
and discovered that they had had an appreciative 
audience during their recent performance. 

“Didn’t your mother thoroughly enjoy it?” 
Aunt Molly asked Elva, softly; “an’ it’s done 
her a heap of good.” 

The nights had been unseasonably cool, and the 
grain was late in ripening. The days were hot, 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


263 

and Everest decided that he would give the men 
a good long nooning, and have them make up the 
time in the evening. 

“That’s good,” said Johnson; “night’s the right 
time fer using cradles , any how.” 

“You ought to be a pretty good judge of that, 
‘Mike’,” responded Bisford, “for you’ve got at 
least half a dozen youngsters.” 

“Jes’ you double that, an’ you’ll have the right 
figger. The wife give me the twelfth last month; 
an’ he’s as cute as they make ’em. Ev’ry one 
thinks his own crow is the blackest, I know; but 
this little rascal is smart, now I tell yer!” 

Each with his cradle swung over his shoulder, 
and his whetstone in his pocket, that evening the 
four men were on their way to the oat lotf It was 
a lovely moonlight night, almost as bright as day; 
and as they marched along, they kept step to Bis- 
ford’s singing “I see Them on Their Winding 
Way.” 

Everest was in advance of the others, but his 
thoughts were behind; not with his wife and child, 
but with one of Mrs. Hilliard’s Swedish maids, 
the coarse creature whose hot breath had been in 
his face as she implanted a kiss there a half hour 
ago, having awaited her opportunity to do so 
behind the door of the butler’s pantry. 

The ripened grain, even knowing their intent, 
waved gracefully to the cradlers as they entered 
the field; and soon, with rythmic swishes, swath 
after swath was laid low. 

As the men finished one row and commenced 
to whet their scythes, Everest, after feeling in all 
his pockets, said : “There ! I have left my whet' 


266 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


stone on the cutting-bench in the conservatory — ” 

“And you couldn’t be coaxed to go back there 
alone, — oh, no!” interrupted Warner, with a teas- 
ing grin; “so I’ll lend you mine. That’s here all 
righty. I don’t get excited; you see I take things 
ca’m.” 

“Should say you did, the way you was hugging 
Hilda today. You didn’t see me, did you?” 

“See you what, — hugging Hilda? Better not 
let me! She’s my property, and jest the nicest 
gal in this hull county.” 

“Somehow,” said “Pat,” who was a benedict, “I 
can never come to realize that them Swedes is 
white, though their hide is as fair as my mother’s. 
They seem so foreign to me. I don’t care for ’em.” 

“You hadn’t better, that’s more,” exclaimed 
Warner, who did not in the least resent “Pat’s” 
speech, “seeing as you’re hooked for life. But I 
tell you they’re mighty tempting to any man, — 
specially Hilda.” 

“Spite of yer temptin’ Hildas, an’ Helmas, an’ 
Olgas an’ Ellens” — here Everest quickly looked 
at the speaker — “give me plain, white, American 
Maria Johnson. She’s faded a bit, as we all must, 
in time; but the heart in her bosom beats fer only 
one man, — then, now, an’ ferever; an’ I’m the 
man!” 

“What a bully preacher you’d have made, 
‘Mike,’ ” said Bisford. 

“God ferbid! I like it best as I am, jes’ plain 
John Johnson, that talks ter the horses an’ cows 
an’ pigs, an’ that knows they love me. An’ after 
I feed ’em at night, an’ see to it that their beddin’ 
is all comf’table, I trot along home an’ find Maria, 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


267 

smilin’ an’ glad, an’ know she loves me, too. Then 
the youngsters flock ’roun’ me, some of ’em even 
feelin’ in my pockets fer peanuts, an’ pullin’ me all 
sorts of ways. Why, some nights, they near turn 
the house inside out with joy. An’ why? ’Cause 
Pop’s home!” 

“Better pass the hat, boys, if he’s done his ser- 
mon,” said Everest; for the picture of happy 
home-life brought to his unwilling mind a recol- 
lection of the time when he himself had been wor- 
thy the trust and affection of the true, pure woman 
who bore his name, — the wife whose heart he was 
consciously breaking. 

Again the men had whetted their scythes, but 
before they started upon new swaths, Bisford said : 

“Say, 'Mike,’ I’ll cut your swath if you’ll just 
stop there and sing us that piece you sang the night 
me and my wife was to your house. Hey, boys, 
what do you say?” 

“Sing it, 'Mike’!” 

“Warble away, Pop!” 

“Fire ahead; let’s hear it!” said Everest. 

“O, I’ll sing it if yer like, but I’ll cut my own 
swath at the same time,” said Johnson, who, soon, 
in a full, melodious voice, began, “Rocked in the 
Cradle of the Deep,” his own and his companions’ 
scythes keeping time to the music. After the sec- 
ond verse, he repeated the last four lines, the others 
joining in. 

“This is our last row; an’ ’en fer home!” said 
Johnson. 

As they shouldered their cradles, Bisford led in 
the roundelay: 


268 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“We’re all nervous; nerve, nerve, nervous; 

Oh, we’re all nervous, at our house at honle. ,, 

Then Everest sang a couplet: 

“We’re all poor critters, crit, crit, critters; 

Oh, we’re all poor critters, at our house at home.” 

“Don’t let’s end with that one,” “Mike” ex- 
claimed. “Now all join me: 

“We’re all happy; hap, hap, happy; 

Oh, we’re all happy, at our house at home !” 

The music, ringing out far and wide in the 
moonlight, reached way to “Mike’s” cottage. 
Maria heard it, laid the baby in its cradle, and 
hurrying down the lane, met her husband at the 
bars. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


INSPECTING THE TROUSSEAU. AN ACQUAINTANCE 

of satan's. rice and roses. 

The wheel of Time revolved all too rapidly for 
Violet, who was striving bravely to prevent her 
thoughts from dwelling for two consecutive sec- 
onds upon her coming separation from Elva; for, 
wise, loving mother that she was, she resolved that 
her dear child should not carry into the future the 
recollection that her last home-days were saddened 
by her mother’s tears. 

This was Monday; on Wednesday the wedding 
was to take place. In one of the spare rooms, all 
the chairs, the couch, and the bed, were covered 
with the lovely new gowns for the young bride, 
who was as happy and as care-free as the brilliant 
fire-bird that alighted to await it’s mate on a sway- 
ing branch of the lace-like honey-locust tree; or 
the golden-hued butterfly flitting above the crim- 
son dahlias. 

Aunt Molly rendered incalculable assistance 
during these busy days, and tried to act as a 
mother would have done to Violet. 

Mrs. Bradley had been invited to come and in- 
spect the trousseau before it was packed; for even 
a minister’s wife is not exempt from feminine in- 
terest and pleasure in looking at a handsome bridal 
outfit. As the good lady reached the house, Elva 
269 


270 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


was just driving to the depot to meet the Carg- 
hills. Violet had not completed her afternoon 
toilet, so Aunt Molly met Mrs. Bradley and acted 
as hostess. 

“Jes’ look at this cute little jacket, Mis’ Bradley; 
an’ hain’t that blue silk a beauty? An’ it stands 
alone ; ’pun my word, ef I was young agin, I’d be 
tempted ter arsk it ter take my arm an’ walk off 
with me. Now look at the sewin’ on that night- 
gownd. Elva done that all herself. Ain’t this the 
loveliest lot of fluff an’ lace an’ sof’ness yer ever 
see? 

“But, lorgeons! Mr. Carghill is sech an awful 
good, modest man, I don’t b’lieve he knows an 
apern from a tablecloth, yit. An’ here’s eight 
more elegant dresses, besides them tea-gownds 
over there.” 

“Elva certainly is a fortunate girl, and has 
everything to be thankful for,” responded Mrs. 
Bradley. 

“But she’s too happy, an’ too busy ter be thank- 
ful yit. An’ that ’minds me of what Daddy said 
ter me, once. I was complainin’ ’cause my new 
spring bunnit hadn’t come home when I wanted it. 
Daddy was great on bein’ thankful, whether-er- 
no; but I warn’t. 

“Whilst I was a-j awin’ away, he was givin’ the 
chickens a drink of water, an’ he stopped an’ says 
ter me: ‘Don’t worry so; jes’ be thankful yer’ve 
got an’ old one ter wear. Jes’ see ! even the dumb 
fowls gives thanks fer even a drink of water! 
Watch how they take a little s waller, and then 
throw up their heads in thanks. It’s a lesson 
to us, Molly, to us!’ says Daddy. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


2JI 

“ Thanks nuthin’ !’ says I. ‘Ef they didn’t 
throw their heads up, the water in their mouths 
couldn’t run down their long gullets. I spect a 
girafft haster do the same; but I’m nuther a 
chicken ner a girafft, an’ I’m not thankful fer 
what I don’t need,’ says I, meanin’ a winter bunnit 
in April. 

“Daddy was lookin’ kinder funny, I thought, 
an’ when I give him a chance, he says: ‘Well I 
vum! Blamed ef I didn’t think ever sence I was 
borned that when a chicken throwed his head back 
when it’s mouth was full of water, it was ter si- 
lently cackle ‘Praise God !’ says he. Poor Daddy !” 

The sound of carriage wheels was now heard, 
and Mrs. Bradley slipped away so as not to take 
up Violet’s precious moments. Aunt Molly waited 
to welcome the Carghills and then hurried home 
to feed her chickens so they could get to roost, 
on what she called “sheddle” time. 

On Tuesday, Emma twice accused Juliet of 
turning the hands of the clock back, for they 
seemed so long in reaching her play-hour, when 
she could join Corilla at the swing. 

Three o’clock! Corilla was taking a survey of 
everything within range ; at last she said : 

“It looks so strange here, Emma! Everything 
seems smaller than it did last summer; even the 
woods look shrunken.” 

“Do Ah look skrunken, too ?” Emma inquired. 

“No, you look about the same; but I’ve grown, 
haven’t I?” 

“Mebbe. Ah don’t never grow ; never did grow, 
an’ Ah’m too old to learn now. Mis’ Ross said so, 
any how.” 


272 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Is Mrs. Chester coming here this fall?” 

“Nixie ! Nobody else only you an’ Mis’ Coggle 
an’ Mr. Coggle. An’ Ah’ll tell yo’ sumpin’ ob 
yo’ll cross yoh heart an’ never, never tell.” 

“Cross my heart? How?” 

“Why, jes’ put yo’ arms this-er way — crossed 
oveh yoh heart, — yere, a little mo’ up, on you’ 
stummuck. So. That’s it. Ah’ll whisper; — 
Shove yuh year roun’ to me; so . — Mistah Coggle 
is gzvine to mahhy Uncle Billy!” 

“How do you know?” asked Corilla, amazed at 
Emma’s assertion. 

“’Cause; two, free times Ah yeard Mis’ Dewoo 
talkin’ ’bout it to Miss Elba; an’ Miss Elba was 
so mad, her face was awful red; an’ soon’s they 
spied me a-listenin’, they bofe shet up. That’s 
how.” 

“I don’t think that is so, — about my uncle get- 
ting married, I mean. He’s come out here to 
Elva’s wedding. Elva’s going to marry some man, 
but Auntie told me I mustn’t ask questions, for I 
would soon know all about it.” 

Then after a moment’s reflection: “Why, men 
like my uncle don’t get married; they get — get — 
converted, and — and vaccinated, but not mar - 
ried!” exclaimed Corilla. 

“Well, he’s a-gwine to git it now, yo’ see! an’ 
then Uncle Billy’ll be yoh mother-in-law !” 

“Oh, mercy! I’ll go and ask Uncle Richard!” 

“Oh, fo’ the Lawd sake don’! Yo’ can’t, yo’ 
know, ’cause yo’ crossed yoh heart,” said Emma, 
gleaning a sense of protection as she recalled the 
act. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


273 

“I only folded my arms, this way,” protested 
Corilla. 

“That was ’nough ; that meant yo’d never, 
never tell.” 

“Then I’ll never do it again, for I must tell 
Aunt Penelope everything.” 

“Mus’ yo’ tell her when yo’ git to sleep, an' 
when the man whut lives up in the moon looks at 
yo’, an’ when yo’ tell lies, an’ when” 

“I never tell lies!” interrupted Corilla, indig- 
nantly. 

“Yo’ betteh not,’ ’cause of yo’re bad, the devil 
will git yo’ ; the bible says so.” 

“It don’t say me!” 

“Yep, it does; it says 'Gorilla Coggle!’ Ah read 
it lots of times.” 

“Why, Emma! You cannot read, and you 
know it!” 

“Yaas Ah kin, too; but Ah useter couldn’.” 

“I’ll ask Aunt Penelope about it,” said Corilla, 
with a look of suspicion at Emma. 

“No, don’!” pleaded Emma, catching Corilla’s 
dress. “Tain’t there; Ah was on’y foolin’ yo’.” 

“Then you told a wicked story; ar’n’t you 
afraid the devil will get you?” 

“Nope, Ah ain’t ’fraid, — he knows me!” ex- 
claimed the little black heretic. 

“I think I will go back again, for you don’t play 
nicely,” said Corilla. 

“Please don’ go; oh, don’ go! — Ah’ll be awful 
good,” pleaded Emma. “An’ Ah’ll show yo’ sump- 
in; look yere!” 

With a forefinger in each corner of her capa- 
cious mouth, Emma stretched that feature till it 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


274 

really was as wide as her face, and made her 
frightful to behold. 

Corilla started to run, — the hideous face had 
startled her so. 

“Don’ go!” begged Emma, trying to detain her 
by relating something. “Ah knowed a man once, 
— oh, please stay! Ah knowed a man, — come 
back yere an’ Ah’ll tell yo’ all ’bout him !” 

Corilla relented and returned. 

“Set on the swing an’ Ah’ll swing yo’, too.” 

Corilla complied, though rather reluctantly. 

“What about the man you knew ? — but don’t tell 
me, if it’s as awful as you looked.” 

“No, it’s nice. Ah knowed a man whut keeps 
live stock.” 

“Well, what of it? What does he do with it?” 

“O, jes’ keeps it. He’s got a goat, an’ a sheep, 
an’ a crow, an’ two gray squirls.” 

“Did you ever see them?” 

“Course Ah did ! Ah knowed ’em all.” 

“Where are they now?” 

“He killed the sheep an’ eat it up.” 

“Where’s the goat?” 

“The goat ? The goat — the pore goat died : an’ 
Ah guess — Ah guess, — he fed it to his wife! Mis’ 
Ross said so, anyhow.” 

“Has he the squirrels yet, or are they dead 
too ?” 

“Ah think — Ah think his wife lef’ the cage dooh 
open an’ they run away.” 

“Then mercy ! What live stock has he got ?” 

“Why, he’s got the crow, Ah ’spect!” 

“I don’t think that was much to tell,” said Co- 
rilla, frankly. “Did you know that Doctor Rus- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


275 

sell and a lot of people we know are coming here 
tomorrow? I hope it will be clear.” 

“Nope, Ah didn’ know it; an’ Ah didn’ need 
tuh, ’cause they won’t come; ’cause Ah think 
’twull rain pitchforks, an’ thunder, urn! awful!” 

“I’ve had enough swinging, and I guess Auntie 
wants me now.” 

“Will yo’ come out yere termorreh?” 

“Not in the rain.” 

“Come to think, Ah guess ’twull be clear!” 

Corilla walked slowly on toward the house. She 
was disappointed in Emma, who, in addition to 
being unpleasantly persistent, had told a falsehood. 

“Goodbye, Gorilla Coggle !” shouted a voice 
from among the branches of the tree into which 
Emma, with the dexterity of a monkey, had 
climbed. 

Corilla turned. Two big, black eyes in their 
china-white setting, and the red lips surrounding 
the white teeth, were all that she saw, for in an 
instant Emma lay upon the ground, so badly 
bruised and jarred that she had to be helped into 
her bed. 

After supper, Corilla went up to see her, and 
said: “I prayed for you again last night. You 
remember we promised we’d pray for each other, 
and I nearly always remembered. Did you pray 
for me?” 

“Oh, Ah didn’ do it! Ah didn’ do it ’tall!” 
moaned Emma, who was now very penitent as she 
expected death at any moment. 

“Never mind,” said Corilla, soothingly; “you 
can do it by and by.” 

“Ah, wull, oh, Ah wull, of Ah ever git done 


276 DADDY’S WIDOW 

prayin’ fo’ mahse’f! Gwon ’long down stairs 
so’s Ah kin.” 

Thus unceremoniously dismissed, Corilla re- 
treated to the comforting atmosphere of her aunt’s 
presence, arriving there just in time to hear the 
following : 

“ ‘Life and death are in the power of the tongue/ 
the Scriptures say. If we persist in affirm- 
ing illness, adverse circumstances, and failure, we 
attract and invite them, and they do not fail to 
accept. It was the wise Solomon who uttered the 
words I have quoted; so you see how long back 
our religion dates.” 

“Dear Penelope,” replied Richard Carghill, “as 
I interpret Solomon’s meaning, his remark was 
occasioned by his being nagged almost to death by 
his wives.” 

“Was it the fear of such a death that has kept 
you single all these years?” 

The brother smiled ; and the sister, with a pleas- 
ant little bend of her head, and a tender, loving 
smile, said : “Elva is a bright, lovable woman, and 
I trust that in time she will become a Scientist; 
though in either event I shall love her dearly.” 

In spite of Emma’s weather prognostications 
at the swing the day before, by ten o’clock the sun 
came out of a soft gray cloud and shone with his 
choicest September brightness on this, Elva De- 
veau’s wedding day. 

All the previous evening Mrs. Hilliard and 
Mrs. Bradley had spent arranging an arch of 
white chrysanthemums, with golden-rod fringing 
it, as an approach to the large bay window in 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


277 

which, beneath a floral bell, Elva and Mr. Carg- 
hill were to stand during the service. 

The last touch had been given to the bridal- 
veil; the train of the white silk dress was brought 
to the proper, artistic sweep; and as the opening 
notes of the wedding march sounded, preceded by 
Corilla carrying a basket of white and pink roses, 
beautiful Elva Deveau, her arm linked in her 
mother’s, came down the broad stairway and en- 
tered the parlor, where, at the floral arch, Mrs. 
Deveau left her at Richard Carghill’s side. 

Brother Bradley, in the presence of the fifty or 
more guests, pronounced the solemn words : 
“Those whom God hath joined together, let no 
man put asunder!” 

Amid the comments upon the beauty of the 
bride, and the elaborateness of her costume, the 
extreme loveliness of the mother was not over- 
looked; and Aunt Molly, after having congratu- 
lated the bride and groom, went to where Judge 
Russell was standing, and asked: 

“Doctor Russell, did you see how queer 
Brother Bradley looked as Violet an’ Elva walked 
up the carpet tergether? I jes’ bet he was puz- 
zled ter know which one ter greet, ’specially as 
ev’ryone had said the weddin’ was ter be of the 
han’somest girl in Mapleton. Don’t Violet look 
young? Ain’t she lovely? She oughter be some- 
buddy’s bride ; don’t you think so, Doctor Russell ?” 

Harold Russell replied with his eyes; and im- 
mediately, his interrogator, employing a similar 
method, assured him that she understood! 

When the collation had been partaken of, the 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


278 

most beautiful girl in “old Suffolk,” wearing upon 
her left hand the golden circle so precious to a 
happy wife, with her life-partner led the dance. 

The bride slipped away to don her travelling 
dress, — her trunks having already been sent to 
the depot — after which she and her husband went 
down the back stairs, stole cautiously through the 
kitchen, and believing themselves unobserved by 
the guests, entered the carriage awaiting them at 
the rear of the house. 

At that instant Mr. Delmore rushed out and de- 
tained them a few precious moments (to give the 
guests time), foolishly suggesting that they drive 
out the front gate ; where, in fact, the merry guests 
were hurriedly scrambling into the waiting car- 
riages and then were rapidly driven away, before 
Mr. Delmore, pretending to aid the two who think 
they have fooled the others, slowly closed the door 
of the bride’s carriage. 

While Mr. Delmore had been talking, Laur- 
ence Smith, but recently awakened to the fact 
that he had loved Elva ever since their school days, 
had rushed to the horses’ heads, and attached 
white ribbon streamers to their headstalls, and im- 
mense bows with sash ribbon streamers to their 
saddles. 

There was barely time to make the train, and 
hurrying into the depot, Mr. and Mrs. Carghill 
were amazed to find the wedding guests laughing 
joyously and awaiting them, each one carrying a 
lot of flowers and a paper bag of rice. 

As the train drew up at the platform, Vernon 
Hannock ran to the engineer and gave him a box 
of cigars. Flowers were strewn from the station 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


279 


door to the train steps, and Elva and her husband, 
pelted with roses, and with rice trickling down 
their backs, lodged in the folds of her veil, and 
thick upon the brim of his hat, took refuge in the 
car. 

Young Walter Freeman, making up for past 
inactivity which he hoped was all that prevented 
his now being in Richard Carghill’s place, fol- 
lowed. With one hand he grasped Mr. Carghill’s 
in a firm, goodbye clasp, and with the other, dex- 
terously fastened upon the rear of the back of the 
seat Elva and Richard had taken, a placard, read- 
ing: “We are just married; — please take care of 
us r 

A number of passengers, enjoying the fun, went 
out upon the platform of the car and leaned over in 
time to see the brakeman putting on board two 
large trunks, each tied with broad white ribbons, 
and with an old shoe firmly affixed to each handle. 
They also saw the string of old shoes dangling 
under the back of the carriage in which the bride 
and groom had ridden to the depot, unconscious of 
the decoration of the vehicle. 

The engineer, delighted with his gift, gave such 
a tooting of the whistle as drowned every other 
sound. 

“Isn't this terrible?” asked the bride, laughing. 

“We can stand it, darling. It will never come 
again to either of us, please God,” replied her 
husband. 

Aunt Molly, with the other elderly guests, had 
remained at the house after the merry crowd of 
young people had started. Seeing Judge Russell 


28 o 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


alone out by the grape arbor, and looking very dis- 
consolate, as she thought, she immediately joined 
him there. 

“I guess I feel this blow next best ter you, Doc- 
tor Russell; though I must say I never see sech 
a beautiful weddin’ afore. Why, that ere weddin’ 
cake with them two white ducks settin’ an’ techin’ 
bills on it, was the beautifulest cake I ever see! 
An’ the presents! Silver-plated ware, an’ real 
chiny, an’ chairs, an’ clocks, an’ checks, an’ linen, 
an’ sculpultoor, an’ other things nobuddy’d ever 
think of! Lor me! but that bride has got ev’ry- 
thing upon ’arth ter keep her happy, ’cep* a han’- 
organ an’ a monkey ! 

“An’ sech a splendid man as he is, too; jes’ what 
Elva oughter have. I’ll bet his hull posterity fer 
ginerations back, is good; — he looks it. 

“But don’t let me disturb your ruminatin’; an’ 
don't look so ferlorn! Yer know the old sayin’, 
‘Ev’ry dog has his day, an’ ev’ry cat its arfter- 
noon.’ 

“That’s good! I’m glad ter see yer smile. At 
one time I thought you was a-weepin’; but I 
warn’t sure, fer as we travel on the homeward 
road, our eyesight gits a little tricky, an’ things 
seem futher off then they really are ; an’ so I may 
of mistook the tear in my own eye fer one in 
yourn.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


JEALOUS UNCLE BILLY. NO MEN ANGELS. THE 
DAY IS SET. 

“ ‘An" a- who dar, who dar ?’ ” sang Polly Ade- 
laide, whose quick hearing had detected a step 
upon the path, the evening after the wedding. 

Aunt Molly well knew “who dar,” and opened 
the door to admit him. 

“Howdy do, Uncle Billy? I was feerd you was 
wuss. You missed it, an’ folks said they missed 
you, too, to the weddin’ this arfternoon.” 

“Good evenin’,” responded Uncle Billy, in a 
strained voice. “I was too real sick, an’ too upsot 
ter dress an’ go. Was there many out? Bet my 
boots Mrs. Hilliard was the han’somest one 
there.” 

Uncle Billy certainly wanted to make Aunt 
Molly jealous. He failed. 

“Course she was, ’ceptin’ the bride an’ her 
mother. Elva did look jes’ beauteous! Her two 
black eyes shined an’ sparkled till yer could almost 
hear ’em crackle. They looked jes’ like burnt 
holes in a blankut. But when she let ’em fall onter 
her mother, jes’ arfter the ceremony, I seen the 
bright tears start. 

“But fust I watched Doctor Russell; he looked 
as ef he was a-dreamin’ whilst the ceremony kep’ 
up. An’ you oughter heerd the way Brother 
281 


282 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


Bradley talked in that lovely way of hisn, ter the 
new couple, — all ’bout trustin' an’ so forth. I 
think Mr. Carghill let a tear run down onter his 
mustache, but otherwise he behaved real well dur- 
in’ the ceremony. 

“That Helen Donalds was there, too, widder an’ 
all as she is; an’ she was got up regardless. Her 
black dress was trimmed with yellerish white lace 
that looked as ef it had been washed in brine, dried 
in smoke, an’ ironed with a brick, but awful 
costly, I s’pose. 

“I didn’t see as Mr. Delmore was a bit sweeter 
on her than on me; an’ the bold critter had the 
imperdunce ter arsk me how old I was ! I told her 
I was ’bout as old as folks my age giner’ly is. 
Then she turned her faskernatin’ powers onter 
some other gentlemen there, an’ got one on ’em ter 
fetch her some claret punch. Arfter she gulped 
it down, she says : ‘Ah ! that was a necktie fit fer 
the gods!’ 

“Yer know the Delmores has been worried ’bout 
their father an’ Helen Donalds. They never said 
so, ter me, but I knowed; an’ I told ’em ter not 
ter borrer trouble, ’cause ‘it’s a long worm that 
hasn’t any turnin’.’ 

“But that’ll never be no match. Still, there’s no 
‘countin’ fer a man. I ’member Car’line’s husbun’ 
arst me a few year ago, ‘Carn’t a man love twice?’ 
An’ I says, ‘No ! an’ it’s hard tellin’ when they love 
once. They git little twinges now an’ then, that 
their sect may think is love; but it hain’t ho more 
like the ginerwine article than a hog is like a 
jackass !’ ” 

Uncle Billy sighed. “Well,” said he, “I’m glad 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


283 

Mrs. Hilliard is well. I merely dropped in here, 
— thought mebbe I’d find ‘Porky’ a-visitin’ yer, 
sence it’s all over town now, ’bout you an’ him 
a-racin’ one of the livery horses through highways 
an’ byways larst ’Lection Day.” 

“Lor sakes!” exclaimed Aunt Molly. “I on’y 
done what you hadn’t oughter of lef’ ondone; fer 
findin’ there warn’t ’nough men with red blood in 
their veins, ter carry the day fer Doctor Russell, 
I jes’ pitched in an’ done what I could, an’ I glory 
in it; an’ no need fer you ter show how small yer 
feel, by actin’ glum over it, nuther!” 

“I hardly like ter be told of your gal’vantin’ 
’roun’ with other men. They’ve been a-twittin’ me 
’bout it over ter Sword’s, an’ I flopped outer the 
store like’s ef I got fired out of a cannon-ball.” 

“Massy me! How pertic’ler we’ve growed. I 
never gal’vanted with no man, — on’y took a poor, 
benighted, ole, rummatizy critter ter vote fer a 
man; an’ I wisht there was more like him!” an- 
nounced Aunt Molly, indignantly. 

“I’ve had rummatiz this ten year,” responded 
her guest, with an injured air. 

“I warn’t referrin’ ter ’flicted folks, — I meant 
men, like Jedge Russell. What’s the matter with 
yer ternight? Don’t yer clothes fit yer, er don’t 
yer git ’nough ter eat?” inquired Aunt Molly. 

“Both, mebbe,” replied Uncle Billy. “An’ I 
thank yer, but I merely wanted ter know ef ye’re 
off with the old love an’ on with — ‘Porky’, er vicey 
vicey;” and having thus relieved his mind, Uncle 
Billy began walking rapidly back and forth, his 
thumbs in the armholes of his vest. 

Aunt Molly’s ire was roused ; and as she rocked 


284 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


hard and fast, she answered: “Giner’ly speakin’ I 
don’t pay no ’tention when a man acts like a four- 
legged mule; but this once I will. I’ll tell yer it’s 
vercy versa.” 

After this admission, she stopped rocking; Un- 
cle Billy sank into a chair; and for a short time 
hostess and guest were lost in thought. Then Aunt 
Molly’s face brightened as her anger melted like 
April snow; for wasn’t Uncle Billy’s jealousy, 
though extremely provoking, proof of his deep 
affection for her ? Then when she spoke, her tone 
was almost coaxing. 

“Come, now! I warn’t borned yisterdy, nuther 
was I married more years than I could shake a 
stick at, ter not know when a sens’ble man is actin’ 
like a over-growned gander! Jes’ you quiet down, 
ef yer want things ter go smooth atween us.” 

“Then you don’t really care fer Torky’ Hobbs, 
— do yer?” 

“Porky fiddlesticks! I did give yer credit fer 
better sense, when I told you I’d take yer fer bet- 
ter er fer wusser.” 

“Go ahead, — fire out all yer pretty speeches; 
anything, so long as yer don’t care fer ‘Porky’; 
now I guess I’ll set down an’ stay a spell, — ’twon’t 
take long. Well, how’s ev’rybody?” 

“All well fur as I know. Tommy brung home 
a young kitten awhile ago ; — father an’ child doin’ 
well, as the poet says. How’s Ponto an’ Annie?” 

“Ann had a tumble that sorter upsot her, an’ 
stunted her fer a few minutes, so I made Ponto 
stay with her fer comp’ny. Guy, but warn’t she 
snappy ternight! I lit one lamp, an’ she told me 
ter light t’other one. I arst her what she wanted 


DADDY’S WIDOW 285 

the second feller fer, an’ she snarled out, ‘Ter see 
t’other one with!’ 

“I come nigh buyin’ you a cookoo clock larst 
week, down ter Aunt Debbie’s vandue,” said Uncle 
Billy, his good-nature and serenity restored. 

“I’m glad yer didn’t, fer I wouldn’t of took it. 
I heerd it go off once, an’ it come nigh givin’ me 
St. Vital’s dance. I wanted ter run home an’ git 
my bottle of goose-grease ter rub its chist an’ 
throat with, the horrible, croupy biped!” 

“I thought it might begule the time fer yer when 
I hain’t here. I went up ter the cem’tery afore 
I come here.” 

“No wonder yer was so cheerful an’ chippy 
when yer arrove here.” 

“Who do yer spose come there whilst I was 
a-lookin’ ’round, but George Edd’s daughter. Yer 
know he was buried there larst winter, an’ some 
say he was drunk even to his own funeral, ’cause 
even death couldn’t ketch him sober. Too bad! His 
father was a noble old gentleman, but George was 
a pup all harnessed. Well, what did that gal of 
hisn do, but lay a lily down, sof’ an’ easy, as ef 
she was feerd of wakin’ the old rascal, an’ he’d be 
a-scramblin’ up an’ cussin’ her as usual; — yes, 
she put a lily on that old ’nebriate’s grave !” 

“A lily, eh? hum! Pretty lily he was! But 
that nose of hisn was a blossom, all right! Lily! 
She might better of laid out a jug of rum fer 
him!” 

“On my way out I met Ep’netus Jones, an’ he 
had a face on him as long as Dandy’s, an’ not 
harf so good-lookin’. Nex’ Sundy he’ll be leadin’ 
in prayer agin, arfter bein’ a devil all the week.” 


286 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Bah! his prayers don’t hurt nobuddy, — they 
don’t reach higher’n his forelock.” 

Even the character of the comments his listener 
interspersed, did not check Uncle Billy’s unusual 
loquacity, — reaction had set in after his sullen fit 
had been cured. “How’s Car’line?” he asked; 
“heerd from her lately ?” 

“Yes, I jes’ got a letter ’bout a fortnight ago. 
That John of hern got well; I knowed he would; 
an’ fust thing he done was ter git sweet on a wid- 
der down on the tu’npike. ’Twas pretty ser’ous I 
guess, ’cause Car’line is ’plyin’ fer a divorce; an’ 
what that woman ’plies fer, she giner’ly gits. He’ll 
be drug up afore a jury an’ sent ter jail, I hope. 
An’ ter think how happy they was tergether on’y 
twenty year ago! 

“He’ll do a mighty lot of knee-work ’fore Car’- 
line fergives him, as she will in the end, — wives 
alius does. I wouldn’t. Then they kiss an’ make 
up, an’ act as spoony as a pair of turkle-doves, an’ 
the wife begins trustin’ him wusser’n ever. While 
the man! Bless yer soul, soon’s he gits her that 
way, off he scoots fer new fields ter conquer! 
That’s how a man reforms! 

“Now I begin ter b’lieve that I ’prove of di- 
vorces. I know all ’bout it sayin’ ‘Those whom 
God hath j’ined tergether,’ — but the p’int with me 
is, does God j’ine ’em? Ef He does, why does the 
parson git the price of the job? I think ter say 
that God does it, is pure blastphemy ! An’ ef that’s 
kep’ in the marriage service, the divorce service 
oughter read, ‘The Lord giveth, an’ the Lord tak- 
eth away. Blessed be the name of the Lord !’ 

“I’d run things diffrunt from what you men 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


287 

runs ’em, ef I was to the helium of state, fer now 
it’s turrible resky, this marryin’ business; you 
never kin tell who ye’re gittin’, ner ef you’ve really 
got him arfter yer git him. That’s what makes it 
comf’terble ter read that in the nex’ Country 
there’ll be no marryin’ ner givin’ in marriage. 

“But I’ve figgered that all out, easy ’nough; 
— it’s ’cause there’s no men-angels! There’s babies, 
an’ boys an’ girls; — but now own up, Uncle Billy, 
— did yer ever see even a picter of a waw-angel? 
I b’lieve that when the boy-angels grow ter be 
men, up there, they’re hustled out, same as Satan 
was afore ’em; fer the dear Lord knows there’s 
a Satan in ev’ry one on em ! 

“That proves there’s no men allowed in heaven!” 

Patient Uncle Billy felt almost as though he had 
been thrust out of some agreeable place and left to 
die alone. He would not yet plead for readmis- 
sion, he thought, — he would first turn and hurl a 
weapon at the one who had caused his dismissal. 

After clearing his throat several times, he said: 
“Of course, ef a woman says a thing is so, it’s so, 
even ef it hain’t so. Now I’ll do a little provin’ 
on my own hook : — There’ s no women up in heav- 
en, nuther! fer in Revelations, the Good Book 
says, ‘There was silence in heaven fer about the 
space of harf an hour!’ How does that set?” 

“That’s one on me, an’ a good one,” Aunt Mol- 
ly frankly admitted; then, smiling, she took off 
her spectacles, and as she slowly wiped them, she 
said : 

“Spite of our weak ‘provin’s,’ there’s really 
nuthin’ pertic’ler ter live fer in this world, any- 
how, when one gits ter where they’ve seen more 


288 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


partin’s than welcomes, an’ they set alone in the 
darkenin’ twilight, a-listenin’ fer the call there’s no 
evadin’ !” 

“I guess yer get lonesome, don’t yer?” asked 
Uncle Billy, with more joy than sympathy even in 
his voice. 

“I spose mebbe. I’ve seen so much wickedness 
lately, an’ it seems the wickeder a man is, the 
more he’s respected. Take Ep’netus,” — 

“Lordy Moses! He hain’t a cuccumstance ter 
fat Tom, his brother ! He got control of the little 
savin’s black Dan lef’ fer his wife, Huldah, an’ 
he jes’ tuck that woman an’ skun her out of ev’ry 
cent! Now when a white man takes ter skinnin’ 
niggers , he’s a mighty low-down sort of a cuss, — 
ef you’ll ’scuse the — the truth.” 

“Your speakin’ of a dead man, ’minds me; — 
have yer seen the new doctor yit? What sort of 
lookin’ chap is he, besides bein’ little? I wouldn’ 
know him from Adam’s off ox.” 

“Pretty smart lookin’, — ’bout three-quarters 
blonde, an’ two-fourths blunette. Why, he went 
by here terday; he’s ’tendin’ Aunt Solly Blimeber. 
They say he’s done all he kin fer her, an’ now she’s 
jes’ got ter wait an’ let human natur’ take its 
course. Brother Bradley goes ter see her real of- 
ten, — an’ so does Amy Haywood. Our dominie 
had better be car’ful, — many a good man falls 
down, shot by a woman’s eyes.” 

“Why, bless me! You’re waxin’ sent’mental 
in yer old days!” exclaimed Aunt Molly. 

“Do yer like it?” asked Uncle Billy, as pleased 
as a school-boy who has done something very 
clever. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 289 

“’Cordin’ ter how it’s used. But I’ll say right 
here, that not a hair on Brother Bradley’s head kin 
be turned by all the female sect that ever was 
borned ! They may tempt him ; but he won’t bite. 
He’s loyal, an’ true, an’ pure ; an’ I’ll climb up an’ 
perclaim it any time, from the top of “Buster’s” 
windmill. There’s some, I know, who’d like ter 
jedge him guilty, jes’ ’cause he’s a minister! They 
fergit how he’s brung peace an’ hominy inter the 
congergation. Why, have you fergot, when 
Brother Morton was here, how the members fit 
like Kilkenny cats? There’s some bad ministers, 
I know; an’ many an old codger that urges young 
folks ter keep inter the straight an’ narrer parth, 
wouldn’ holler harf so loud about it, ef he hadn’t 
spent more er less time in the wide an’ crooked 
parth, himself.” 

Uncle Billy had a particular purpose in remain- 
ing here so long this evening, and time was pass- 
ing too swiftly, according to the strokes of the 
kitchen clock. Realizing that his business must 
be no longer delayed, he was confronted with the 
fact that his memory and his courage both had 
sailed away in time’s wake. What were those 
words he was sure he had at his tongue’s end? 
Where were they? 

He looked at Aunt Molly, but her very tran- 
quility bothered him. Surely she must know what 
he wanted to ask, and yet, while he was strug- 
gling for words, there she sat in her low rocking- 
chair, gazing in admiration upon the new crepe 
paper lamp-shade Elva had made for her! Just 
like a woman ! 

He arose from the sofa, and walked around be- 


290 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


hind her chair ; then, with his fat hands in his coat 
pockets, he went and stood in front of her. Still 
the words he wanted would not come. Perhaps 
they would, he thought, if he again sat down; so 
he drew an arm chair from the corner, placed it 
beside Aunt Molly’s, settled himself in it, crossed 
his feet, wiped his forehead, and then began to 
count his fingers. 

Aunt Molly looked at him inquiringly. “Lost 
any?” she finally asked. 

He paid no attention to her question. “I — I 
quite miss Tommy, ternight,” he said, falteringly. 

“Mebbe the feelin’s mutu’l, — sorry he carn’t be 
here. Ef yer’ve any special message, I might take 
it to him when I feed him an’ his kitten in the 
mornin’.” 

“Now, Aunt Molly, looker here! Why do yer 
keep puttin’ a feller off? When will yer marry 
me?” 

Uncle Billy had asked the question very softly; 
yet to him it sounded as though he had shouted it 
till the rafters in the attic fairly shook. 

“Marry yer?” asked Aunt Molly, with provok- 
ing indifference in her tone. “Why, I dunno 
edzackly; — some time er nuther, I suspect.” 

“But I’m in earnest now, an — an’ pos’tive; an’ 
— an’ I mean it! Yer know the Good Book says 
’tain’t good fer man ter be alone.” 

“It knows they carn’t be trusted.” 

“Now I beg an ontreat of yer ter please quit 
foolin’! It’s nigh onter ten o’clock an’ gittin’ 
later! When will yer marry me?’ I arst yer!” 
Uncle Billy’s voice seemed to have borrowed a 
third-and-last-call tone. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


291 


“Not ternight, — it’s too late,” answered Aunt 
Molly; and then the spirit of mischief that had 
been in her bright, black eyes, gave place to a look 
of appreciation of the solemnity of the moment, 
and she said: 

“Now Uncle Billy, I will stop foolin’. This 
marryin’ business is ser’ous at best; an’ ser’ouser 
to us than ter them jes’ a little way along life’s 
road. We’re not spring pullets, nary one on us. 
Our hair is nearly white (what there’s lef’ of it), 
an’ our thoughts oughter be p’ intin’ ter the 
nex’ Country, stidder dwellin’ in this. We’re both 
peppery in temper, but I see no jest cause ner 
ipedilment why we shouldn’t journey the rest of 
our trip tergether ; I’m willin’ ter resk it ef you be. 

“So now that we’ve reasoned tergether, pro an’ 
con, I’ll marry yer on yer buthday, nex’ Novem- 
ber.” 

“On my buthday? Lemme see! Why, that 
comes nex’ week, I think.” 

“You know better’n that; you was present from 
the fust, yer know, an’ I warn’t.” 

Uncle Billy gave a sigh that might well have 
been taken for a groan. “O, how gullad I be that 
this heart-wrenchin’, wonderin’ time is over ! Now 
I kin go home another man!” 

“Better leave yer new name, so’s I’ll know who 
ter arsk fer.” 

“Well, I see my flowery speeches don’t go down 
with you ; but I’m so happy, I carn’t talk any other 
way. I’m so thankful I didn’t perpose ter Net 
Miller, her ’twas Net Underwood, as she brags on. 
She kinder liked me pretty well, too. ’Member 
how she useter carry on at the Golden Ring par- 


292 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


ties? Gosh! warn’t she fat! Ev’ry time I teched 
her arm in the ‘Ginny Reel, I thought I had hold 
of a leg of mutton.” 

Aunt Molly smoothed her own left arm caress- 
ingly with her right hand, and said : “Mine tapers 
’bout as much as a broom han’le; — what yer got 
ter say ’bout mine?” 

“Nuthin’, ’cep’ ter me it’s jes’ the deares’ arm 
as never was. I wisht ’twas mine, now.” 

“You’d look cunnin’, you would, with sech a 
little whip as this, lost in yer coat sleeve. But I’m 
full owner of two on ’em, an’ as they’re the best 
I’ve got, I won’t despise ’em.” 

“Ten o’clock, so that imperlite article on your 
kitchen mantle tells me. As Mother useter say, 
‘Time honest folks was in bed, an’ rogues a-march- 
in’;’ so I’ll start.” 

“Not on an empty stummuck,” protested Aunt 
Molly. “We’ll drink our healths an’ long life to 
us, in a cup of tea, ’fore yer go, an’ have a bite 
of Mrs. Bradley’s chocolate cake. ’Tain’t often 
that minister’s wives sends home yer plates with 
somethin’ nice on ’em ; but she alius does.” 

Over the tea-cups, future plans were discussed; 
and finally, Uncle Billy, who stood a little in awe 
of his sister, asked : “Shill I break it to Annie ter- 
night ?” 

“Lor ! It’ll keep, won’t it ? What diff runce’ll it 
make ter her? She will jes’ live on an’ on there 
till the Good Lord takes her; an’ we’ll live here 
till He does.” 

“But she’ll be mad ef I don’t give her time ter 
make a dress fer the weddin’.” 

“As it’s on’y eight weeks off, mebbe ef yer run 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


293 


fast an’ start now, you kin tell her time ’nough. 
Why, ef yer shouldn’t, let her wear that white silk 
she’s got laid away ter be buried in ; then she’ll see 
how she’ll look to her funeral.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


PASTOR AND TEMPTRESS. 

Brother Bradley called one afternoon at Home- 
at-Last, to see Mrs. Haywood, that charming wo- 
man of the chiseled-marble type, apparently; but 
who in reality was daily living in the desire for the 
warmth of impassioned love; — no clear, steady 
flame, but a full, fierce light that would defy extin- 
guishment as long as it had life to emit one spark. 

After a searching glance into her pastor’s dark 
blue eyes, Mrs. Haywood lowered her own till her 
long, dark, silky lashes touched her lovely cheeks, 
just above where the deep, exquisite pink blush 
dawned through them. 

Before Brother Bradley had realized how beau- 
tiful the woman before him was, her husband en- 
tered the room, with a tray upon which were three 
glasses of champagne, and offered one to their 
guest. 

“I beg you to pardon me ; I never partake of 
spirituous liquors, and I do not find that I suffer 
from abstaining from them,” said Brother Brad- 
ley. 

Mrs. Haywood drank hers, more to call forth 
her pastor’s pity, than because she wanted it, as it 
was not her first glass that afternoon. 

After Mr. Haywood had returned to his bar- 
room, Brother Bradley, in a tone meant to be 

294 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


295 

kindly chiding, said to Mrs. Haywood: “You do 
not approve of one’s taking liquor except as a 
medicine; do you, Mrs. Haywood?” 

“As I am almost constantly where it is, and 
since our guests order it and request me to join 
them in a social glass, I possibly take it oftener 
than is necessary,” was Mrs. Haywood’s reply, fol- 
lowed by a sigh. Then, still playing to evoke her 
visitor’s pity, she slowly said: “Oftentimes I long 
to fly away to where the odor of intoxicants never 
penetrates; where all is purity of thought; where 
I might lead a useful life, serving others. 

“At such times, I feel more forcibly, my envi- 
ronments and the soul-poison they generate. But 
no sooner does my longing for a higher life thrill 
me, than I am called upon to attend to some of the 
duties that my husband’s occupation demands me 
to perform; and they have their attractions, I con- 
fess. 

“Now tell me, kind friend ; give me counsel! In 
you I repose every confidence, and I crave your 
wise advice. Tell me! am I justified in remaining 
in an atmosphere so uncongenial, when nearly 
every throb of my heart is yearning for a purer 
one ?” 

“You are very kind to express your feelings so 
freely; and I, as your pastor, am bound to give 
you such advice, as, coming from another, might 
be interference. It is your spiritual welfare that 
I have at heart. But before I advise you, let me 
ask : — Have you taken your cares and perplexities 
to the One Who is Wiser than all others? I can 
intercede for you with Him; but He alone is the 
One Who can, and will, right all wrong, and place 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


296 

us in the corner He desires us to fill. If we pray 
to Him for guidance, and then listen , — the ‘still, 
small voice’ will ever tell us the right thing to do. 

“I will pray for you, as for all in my charge; — 
yes, more especially for you, since your little 
barque is so buffeted by the waves and winds of 
Life’s ocean. How careful we ought to be, ere 
we start upon our voyage, to look well to the rud- 
der!” said Brother Bradley. 

No tableau ever arranged was more beautifully 
pathetic than the picture his companion made, — 
her hands clasped, her glance upward, and her lips 
moving in silent prayer. 

Yes, she was praying; not for the guidance her 
pastor bade her seek, but for a continuance of the 
feeling of deepest interest and sympathy she knew 
she had awakened in the breast she intended some 
day to recline upon. 

As soon as Brother Bradley had gone, Mrs. 
Haywood went to her mirror; and no one could 
deny that the face she saw reflected there, was as 
beautiful as that of Circe. 

This was Tuesday, — only two days more and 
she would again see her pastor, — again come under 
the spell of his magnetic voice, while she would 
endeavor to draw him to her with the splendor of 
her” beautiful eyes. 

Thursday evening at the prayer-meeting, Amy 
Haywood boldly stood up and asked the members 
to pray for her, that she might be given divine 
help to win the battle now raging within her, and 
become even the least of those who serve their 
Maker in truth. 

Brother Bradley was touched by her appeal,-— 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


297 

though many of his audience were sceptical re* 
garding it, and asked themselves what the wo- 
man’s “battle” consisted of — and as he was about 
to kneel within the altar, he said: “Let us pray 
for our dear Sister Haywood; not only here and 
now, but ere we commit ourselves to Our Father’s 
care in our homes tonight.” 

Never did penitential tears course more freely 
down the cheeks of a seeker after divine help, than 
did the tears that fell from Mrs. Haywood’s eyes 
that night. Yet not for an instant did she forget 
that her public plea was the price she was paying 
for that which she had yet to win, — the love of 
Brother Bradley. 

At the close of the interesting meeting, the 
clasp of her pastor’s hand again thrilled her; and 
his “I will stop in and see you very soon,” almost 
overpowered her with gladness. 

Of course it became town talk, this desire of 
the woman who willingly tended bar, to unite with 
the church. Wise heads shook, eyes closed omi- 
nously, and lips compressed in a manner not flat- 
tering to the woman under discussion. But in 
spite of it all, a few months later, the name of 
Amy Mallow Haywood was enrolled upon the rec- 
ord as joining in full membership. 

She was progressing. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


AN AFTERNOON DRIVE. TEMPTED. 

Chancellor reluctantly obeyed his mistress's 
softly spoken “whoa," and stopped in front of the 
parsonage. Mrs. Bradley hastened to the door 
to welcome the caller, — a minister's wife must not 
discriminate — and smilingly said : 

“Ah, Mrs. Haywood; won’t you come in?" 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bradley; I have called 
merely to request Brother Bradley to accompany 
me to call upon an afflicted woman, whom my 
grandmother knew in her young days." 

“Yes? He would be pleased to go, I have no 
doubt; but he is not at home at present," replied 
Brother Bradley's wife. 

“If you will kindly tell me which way he will 
return, I will drive in that direction." 

“Here he comes now !" and he did look so splen- 
did, so manly, and so pure, that Mrs. Bradley 
wished it were herself, instead of Mrs. Haywood, 
who was to sit beside her husband that lovely 
afternoon. 

These calls for Brother Bradley were increasing 
in frequency, and only yesterday Mrs. Bradley re- 
buked her servant for repeating a remark made 
by a neighbor’s waitress, who had been in Mrs. 
Haywood's employ. Still, a thought had been 
planted; and though she tried her best to uproot 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


299 


it, Mrs. Bradley was forced to abandon the effort. 

Her husband did not notice the sadness in her 
smiling farewell, as, having seated himself beside 
Mrs. Haywood in the carriage, he turned and 
raised his hat to her. 

The same embroidered laprobe was spread over 
the knees of the two who seemed the happiest of 
mortals ; Chancellor proudly tossed his heavy mane, 
and on they drove. 

Was Brother Bradley allowing Amy Haywood 
too large a place in his thoughts? He was but 
human; and “Reverend” before a man’s name, is 
not a guarantee that he will resist all temptation, 
strive he never so hard to attain that result. 

“Always upon errands of mercy ! Do you never 
grow faint by the wayside?” Brother Bradley 
asked his companion. 

“Never; the charmed life now mine, precludes 
all fatigue. Had I in my home, some soul for a 
companion who would enter into my hopes and 
aspirations — someone to speak an encouraging 
word, even though rarely, I could accomplish so 
much! Is envy a cardinal sin? Then hourly I 
sin against Mrs. Bradley.” 

“Is my wife so frequently in your thoughts?” 

“Is it strange that she is? How can I think of 
you, and disassociate her?” 

How it would have delighted Amy Haywood to 
know that her last remark had accelerated the 
pulsing of Brother Bradley’s heart’s blood, and 
that the human in her auditor was pressing hard to 
rout the divine ! 

If a lightning flash, even though it paralyze the 
temptress at his side, could but reveal to him the 


3 °° 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


picture of his wife at that moment, kneeling, with 
her bowed head resting upon the arm of his big 
chair in the study, praying God to put from her 
even the faintest shadow of unbelief in her hus- 
band’s loyalty and honor! 

Chancellor, much against his will, was made to 
halt most ingloriously, as the pastor and his com- 
panion approached a new cottage from around 
which the scrub-oaks had but recently been 
stubbed; for a mellifluous voice from a son of the 
Emerald Isle had shouted : 

“May the Larrd presarve us! And here’s the 
good ministher come ter pervoke a blessin’ upon 
us ! Come out, Rosie, an’ bid him come in !” 

A rough, red hand was extended to Brother 
Bradley, who clasped it in his soft, magnetic one, 
as the man continued: “Sure ’tis luck betther ner 
the ould horse-shoe Rosie’s bean afther stringin’ 
up over the front dooer, (an’ faith I naden’t spic- 
ify, whin it’s the on’y dooer we’ve got, — but I kin 
make more) av ye’ll jis’ stip inside an’ see me an’ 
me bride, — jis’ married this day month, — an’ see 
av ye dawn’t invy me. 

“Make haste, Rosie, an’ git yer big trotthers 
coovered up, an’ salute the Protestum Father an’ 
his leddy !” 

To please Tim McMoony, Brother Bradley asked 
Mrs. Haywood if she would stop a few minutes, 
and she willingly complied. Tim explained to her, 
confidentially, while Brother Bradley was tying 
Chancellor: “Sure me an’ him’s well acquentid; I 
worruked fer him in his gaarden a bit last spring, 
God love him!” 

Tim was so elated over the honor of entertain* 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


301 


in g a minister, that he almost tumbled over him- 
self, as well as Rosie’s cat, as he preceded his 
guests into the cottage, where his barefooted 
bride was surprised in the act of putting on a pair 
of his socks, which came handier, in her haste, 
than did her own long stockings. Stuffing one of 
the socks into her pocket, Mrs. McMoony ner- 
vously gave Mrs. Haywood two chairs to sit in. 

Tim was more collected, and issued his com- 
mands like a general : “Wash yer hands an’ throt. 
out thim two plates I got off Tony Flannigin ! Sure 
the good man here won’t refuse a bite of cake, 
since yer own bright eyes did the bakin’.” 

“G’long wid yez !” exclaimed the blushing bride, 
who nevertheless obeyed. 

Everything was so scrupulously clean, the visit- 
ors did not object to testing the cake. 

Tim’s determination to entertain his guests by 
incessant talking, gave them scant opportunity to 
offer congratulations. 

“Now lemme tell yez sunthin’. Afther we got 
hooked up, I got holt — niver moind how — av a 
pair av dooks, so’ they cud watch us shpaarkin’, an’ 
we cud larn ter coo. Whin I brung thim in, Rosie 
here, t’rowed up her two hands an’ says, ‘Howly 
houdahs ! Is it gooses ye’re givin’ us ?’ 

“ ‘Naw, I airn’t; an’ they dawn’t bes ganders, 
nayther; this wan is a dook,’ says I, an’ I made 
him bow low to me bride, an’ — O, sir ! she has the 
divil in her whin she gits acquentid, — an’ she bows, 
too, an’ says, ‘How air ye, Mr. Dook?’ Thin I 
made the drake bow, an’ Rosie says, ‘Is this yer- 
silf, Mrs. Drake ? Sure yous an’ me will be havin' 


302 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


the foine toimes, wid on’y this mm ould gander 9 
— an’ ’twas me she deferred to, — ‘ter feed us.’ ” 

To hear her own little joke repeated, was too 
much for Rosie, who blushed and snorted, but 
finally found courage to tell the guests that the 
duck after all had done so much damage to the 
cabbages, it had to be “kilt.” 

“But sure,” she continued, “I dawn’t inj’y ’atin’ 
it, fer it’s loike ’atin’ me own relations!” 

While Rosie had been talking, Tim had gone 
into the pantry and cut some of the roasted duck, 
and placed two goodly slices upon the Flannigan 
plates replenished with cake. 

The guests had scarcely tasted the meat, when 
there came a loud but mournful, “Qua-a-a-ck, 
quack,, quack, quack!” at the outer door. 

“Sure the poor thing misses his mate, same as 
you’d miss me av some ould gobbler was ter chew 
me up, Timmie dear. Give the poor baste the 
wishbone ter pick; t’row it out ter him, an’ mebbe 
he’ll fergit her.” 

Chancellor resented being tied in the public 
highway, and was pawing and stamping so vigor- 
ously, that no offense was taken when Brother 
Bradley announced that they would have to hurry 
away. 

“God bless yous” were exchanged; Mrs. Hay- 
wood gave the bride a silver dollar; and soon 
Chancellor was once more speeding along. 

The next hostess was Mrs. Hutchings, (whom 
Mrs. Haywood had called an “afflicted woman,” 
but who was less afflicted than were those who had 
to endure her idiosyncrasy,) who lived with her 
widowed daughter, and who really was enough to 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


3°3 

provoke a saint. Inquisitive as a monkey, with 
no regard for anyone’s feelings, she spent her days 
in looking from the window, criticising passers- 
by, or laying down the law to whomever came 
within sound of her voice. 

Mrs. Simms, the daughter, was hanging the 
dining room curtains, but she hurried down from 
the step-ladder when her mother called : 

“Prudie, come here, quick! Here comes some 
’tarnal people from west. I swun but it looks 
like her ’twas Amy Mallow. She’s got a new 
string to her bow ; an’ he’s got a white necktie on. 
Beats the Dutch, but I b’lieve he’s a parson. Run 
tell ’em nobody ter home!” 

No attention was this time paid to the old lady’s 
command, and the callers, welcomed by Prudie, 
entered the house. 

“Mother is still queer in her talk, but she means 
well,” Prudie apologized in advance. 

“You do right, Mrs. Simms, to look at the 
heart, no matter what the lips may say,” said 
Brother Bradley. 

Mrs. Haywood approached the old lady and pre- 
sented to her a basket of fruit, and was greeted 
with: “O, it’s Amy Mallow, is it? What struck 
you ter come? Hain’t seen you afore in a cat’s 
age. This your husband, or whose?” 

Mrs. Simms tried to make her mother under- 
stand that the stranger was the pastor at Mapleton. 
After shaking hands with him, the old lady held 
out her ear-trumpet, placing one part to her ear; 
Brother Bradley taking up the long, rubber tub- 
ing, intending to talk to the “afflicted woman” 


304 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


through it. Her next remark, however, did not 
give him encouragement. 

“I ain’t much ’count now; I jest set here an’ look 
fer snow-flakes in winter, an’ flies in summer. 
That’s all the fun I git out of life now. Where’s 
your wife?” 

The rebuke went home. But before Brother 
Bradley could reply, Mrs. Simms said: “Mother, 
Amy Haywood stopped at the parsonage on her 
way here, and brought the minister to call and see 
you, hoping you would be pleased. I thank her 
for doing so; won’t you thank her, too?” 

“Won’t I do what? -I’ll do anything ’cept be 
imposed upun. When folks gits old and deef, 
somebody ought ter knock ’em in the head; all 
anybody does is impose upun ’em. I want ’em ter 
quit it, on me!” 

Again Brother Bradley placed the tube to his 
lips, intending to say : “What a comfort it must be 
to you to have your daughter with you;” but he 
got only as far as “Wh” — , when Mrs. Hutchings 
angrily snatched it from him, asking : 

“What yer blowin’ an’ whustlin’ like that inter 
my ear for ? Did yer think I was a dandelion gone 
ter seed ? Quit, now !” 

“I am sorry that Mother is in one of her 
irritable moods today; after your coming all these 
miles, too!” said gentle Mrs. Simms. 

“It is fully eight miles, and we will not be home 
now, till after sundown,” said Mrs. Haywood, ris- 
ing, and adjusting her hat. 

“Goin’ ? Do you ride one of them ere bicycles ?” 
Mrs. Hutchings asked her. 

Mrs. Haywood replied that she did, and the ad- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


305 


mission brought to her and to her escort recollec- 
tions of more than one delightful ride along Wood- 
land Avenue. 

There was a brief pause, followed by Mrs. 
Hutchings’s tart rejoinder: “You look it! I’d be 
’shamed ter do such a thing if I was a woman! I 
should think that ter see you on one of them 
things, would make your mother turn up-sid’-down 
in her grave. But she herself warn’t so pertic’ler 
as your gran’mother.” 

Having had her say, the old lady reached over 
and picked out the largest orange from the basket 
of fruit that Mrs. Haywood had brought her, bit 
into it, and then said : “You needn’t nuther one of 
yer bother ter shake hands with me; mine’s all 
juicy. Good day!” 

It was during that delightful homeward drive in 
the balmy October air, while the crimson, setting 
sun in its golden bed canopied by the blue sky, was 
at times almost hidden by tall, dark pine trees that 
stood as sentinels silently watching the years pass 
on, on into Eternity — that there came the awak- 
ening of Henry Bradley, to the fact that the 
beautiful woman beside him had placed her heart 
in his keeping. 

No word upon the subject was spoken; but ere 
they emerged from the three-mile stretch of wood- 
bordered road, Amy Haywood had asked : 

“If I give you a letter, will you read it carefully, 
judge its writer charitably, and pardon her weak- 
ness ?” 

“I will.” 

“I think, — ” she paused a moment, — “I think 
that instead of writing, I will sometime tell you 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


306 

the story of a life, — of how a drowning woman’s 
endurance kept her above the waters until the 
flood tide brought her a noble rescuer, for whom 
ever after that she would live, if he bade her do 
so; or, if he deemed it better for them both, she 
would drift out with the ebb of the tide.” 

“I understand!” said Brother Bradley. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


AUNT MOLLY ENTERTAINS. PONTO. THE TEM- 
PERANCE PIE. A WEDDING ANNOUNCEMENT. 

The united importunities of Elva and Richard 
had finally induced Violet to consent to close her 
house in Mapleton and spend the winter with them 
in Brooklyn. It really was the best thing for her 
to do, as Miss Sanders, who had remained with 
her since Elva’s marriage, had expressed an aver- 
sion to Long Island in winter; and, furthermore, 
Juliet had married Larry, and was planning to go 
to keeping house in rooms over the carriage house 
at Cedarvale. 

When Violet's friends learned of her decision, 
they arranged to give a series of social teas in her 
honor, the last one to be held at Aunt Molly’s. 

On the morning of her tea party, Aunt Molly 
arose before daylight, and by nine o’clock had com- 
pleted all her preparations for entertaining her 
friends. Then she went to the store to order some 
cracked corn for her young chickens. 

On her return, when about half way home, she 
was startled by a loud, burring noise coming closer 
and closer behind her. Glancing over her shoul- 
der, she recognized Judge Russell in his new auto- 
mobile, one of the few that had come in that 
township. Beside the Judge, scared almost white, 
sat Larry. 

3°7 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


308 

“Good morning, Aunt Molly; you are just the 
lady I am after,” announced Judge Russell. “I 
have had Brother Bradley and his good wife out 
for an early ride, and was on my way to your 
house to get you. Larry will sit in the back seat, 
so that you can take care of me.” 

Aunt Molly was positively afraid of the ma- 
chine, and had taken refuge against the trunk of a 
large tree. 

“Massy on us!” she exclaimed; “where upon 
’arth did yer git sech a black-lookin’ Satan as that ? 
No horses, no nuthin’ ! It’s uncanny; it’s wusser’n 
a lokermotif! I’d be afeered of the thing ef I 
was you. Better git out an’ I’ll help yer shove it 
inter the woods. Why, it’s the awfullest thing I 
ever see !” 

Judge Russell laughed heartily, and said, ex- 
tending his hand: “Come, step right in; it’s safer 
than a carriage, for there are no horses to run 
away with us. Don’t be afraid, Aunt Molly; 
come !” 

Slowly and cautiously, Aunt Molly entered the 
vehicle; but she would not be seated until her 
companion had answered several questions. 

Larry had stopped quaking, and was an inter- 
ested listener to the following : “So this here box is 
where yer keep what they make thunder an’ light- 
nin’ outer, is it? Won’t we blow up, ner git 
struck? Whatever persessed yer ter buy sech an 
outfit as this? It looks like the old New York 
Black Maria with her top blowed off! Ter see us 
in this, a-buddy’d swear we jes’ come outer the 
poorhouse, er jail! You’re sure that box with the 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


309 


cunjurin’ things in, is safe, eh? No danger what- 
somever ?” 

Judge Russell again gave smiling assurance of 
their absolute safety; Aunt Molly thereupon seat- 
ed herself, leaned back, gave a sigh of resignation, 
closed her eyes, and said: “You may start the 
cart !” 

Nor did she open her eyes until the automobile 
stopped at her gate; and when her escort, after 
assisting her to alight, asked her what she thought 
of her ride, she replied : 

“I don’t wonder yer like it. I thought I was 
ridin’ in a rockin’ chair. But — I think — I perfer 
walkin’ ! It’s more healthier !” 

When the “chug-chug” of the disappearing ma- 
chine could no longer be heard, Aunt Molly tem- 
porarily pigeon-holed in her memory all thoughts 
of her auto ride, and concentrated her entire mind 
upon receiving her coming guests. 

As previously arrange^ Violet, with Emma, 
came in the morning, to assist the hostess; and 
while she and Aunt Molly were having luncheon, 
the latter announced: 

“I’ll miss yer so, I won’t know my knuckle from 
my elbow; an’ somehow, I carn’t picter you away 
fer so long. Mebbe I’m wrong. But tennyrate, 
you’ll hafter be here whether-er-no, fer — you 
know; ’cause I cam’t postpone a date I sot my- 
self. 

“Sometimes when I think it all over, I say ter 
myself, ‘Aunt Molly, of all the old fools, you take 
the cake!’ Yer see now I kin set quiet and alone 
in the arfternoons an’ let my face refleck my in’ard 
thoughts ef it wants ten But when I’ve done 


3io 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


what I’ve promised ter do, there’ll be Uncle Billy 
with a right ter be settin’ oppersite me an’ read- 
in’ me! I tell yer, widders don’t know when 
they’re well off. This mcirryin’ again is wusser’n 
signin’off yer buthright fer a mess of porridge, 
that the Bible speaks of.” 

“I do not believe in second marriages,” respond- 
ed Violet. “Yet it seems perfectly right and 
proper in your case; you are such a cheery soul, 
I cannot bear to think of your living alone, espe- 
cially when old age overtakes you. I was de- 
lighted when you told me you had made up your 
mind to accept Uncle Billy as a partner. Now, in- 
stead of my fearing you are lonely, I can picture 
you enjoying his companionship.” 

By two o’clock the decorations of the tea table, 
under Violet’s supervision, were completed. On 
the long shelves in the cool pantry was an array of 
good things to be produced later; among them, 
the platter of veal-loaf such as had given Aunt 
Molly fame throughout half the county, and 
which, therefore, Violet had made to look espe- 
cially atractive. 

Each arrival commented upon the loveliness of 
the day ; but then, the weather-god always favored 
Aunt Molly; and now the October sun smiled ap- 
provingly as he peeped through the curtained win- 
dows of her best room, and viewed the rays he 
sent therein being danced upon by shadows of the 
honeysuckle leaves that lived close to the west 
window. When the rays rested a moment upon 
the carpet, the shadow-leaves danced there; when 
they settled upon the gowns of the ladies, those 
gowns became decorated with inimitable, moving, 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


3 11 

delicate tracery; and twice both rays and dancers 
darted over to and appropriated the top of Uncle 
Billy’s bald head, as he bent down and pulled 
Tommy’s tail — that being the only thing that sug- 
gested itself by which he hoped he could do his 
share toward entertaining the other guests. 

Ponto had not been well lately, and Uncle Billy 
had hesitated about bringing him this afternoon; 
but the dog’s mute appeal as he gazed into his 
master’s face, had decided the matter ; and on reach- 
ing Aunt Molly’s, he had been assigned to the back 
doormat. 

When Emma found him curled up there, she in- 
sisted upon his getting up to play with her ; but as 
he stretched himself, she noted how thin he was, 
and asked him : “Whut’s the matter uv yo’ ? Whut 
makes yo’ so skrimped? Don’ Uncle Billy feed 
yo’? Ah’d chaw a hunk ub pohk outer his fat 
legs ub Ah was yo’. Come wiv me; come wiv 
Emma Dewoo. Come on, pore, skinny Pont.” 

Ponto wagged his tail in grateful acceptance of 
the invitation, and mutely followed his would-be 
friend, who, after cautiously glancing in all di- 
rections, tiptoed to the pantry, where she whis- 
pered to her close attendant: “Ah’m boss yere to- 
night; an Ah’m gwine pull down this shade, foh 
the sun mought tuhn ’roun’ and shine in and spoil 
mah meat; — meat , Ah said. Why don’ yo’ snoop 
’roun’ when Ah say ‘meat’? 

“Ah’ll put this weal down low, so’s yo’ kin jes’ 
smell it; then Ah’ll tuhn mah back and sneak.” 

Not a thought was given to Emma until she 
was needed to carry the carefully prepared edibles 
from the pantry to the table. When all else was 


312 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


in place, Violet asked Aunt Molly what had be- 
come of the platter of meat. 

“Hain’t it on the shelf there? Nobuddy knows 
but what I took it down suller ter keep cool, I’m 
so fergitful. I’ll go look. 

“Git up, Ponto; ye’re in my way. Lorgeons! 
he’s been p’isened! Uncle Billy, Uncle Billy! come 
here quick! Ponto’s almost bustin’, an’ he’s too 
sick ter move !” 

Not only Uncle Billy, but the others responded, 
though no one dreamed that Ponto’s stomach was 
the “suller” that contained the missing meat, until 
Emma produced from behind the pantry door a 
platter upon which were only some sprigs of 
parsley, and with swiftness that only a skilled 
gymnast could have equalled, she crossed the room, 
stooped, and quietly laid the platter down on the 
floor at Aunt Molly’s feet; then, rushing back to 
her mistress and grabbing her skirts, gave vent to 
one of her powerful outbursts : 

“He was starved an’ Ah only tole him ter look 
at it ! Ah didn’ know he was sush a hog. Please, 
Mis’ Dewoo, don’ let Aunt Molly lick me !” 

The appeal was made when she saw Aunt Molly 
coming toward her ; but only to lay her hand kind- 
ly upon the girl’s shoulder and say : 

“There, poor child, stop yer howlin’. Lor ! there’s 
plenty more calves where that come from.” 

The company, seated around the table, still 
marvelling at the calmness with which their host- 
ess bore the disappointment that would have plain- 
ly disconcerted any one of themselves, were com- 
pelled to transform their features with lightning 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


313 

rapidity from mirth to reverence, during her quiet 
remark : 

“Never mind, good folkses; we’re none on us 
returned prodigals, so we kin git along without 
our fatted calf ternight. Brother Bradley, please 
arsk the blessin’.” 

At the end of the delicious repast another com- 
ment was made upon the hostess’s remarkable 
equanimity. Mrs. Hilliard then asked: 

“Tell us, Aunt Molly — were you ever angry? 
real angry?” 

“Let’s sojourn to the settin’ room where it’s com- 
f’tabler, an’ then ef yer want ter listen to an old 
lady tell a long story, I’ll show yer was I ever.” 

Judge Russell placed her favorite rocking chair 
in the center of the room ; seated in it, with the as- 
sembled friends grouped in a semi-circle around 
her, Aunt Molly smoothed down her collar, took off 
her spectacles, wiped them and laid them in their 
case, smiled as she read the looks of pleased an- 
ticipation in the faces looking into her own, and 
began : 

“I’ve alius b’lieved that nuther anger ner char- 
ity should be let out in driblets; an’ I never take 
stock in folks what are angels one minute, an’ 
devils the next. People don’t know which they 
really are. 

“But you want ter hear ’bout the time I was not 
merely angry — I was so mad an’ furious I could 
of frothed to the mouth. Well, ’twas the winter 
Daddy died. I was sorter run down, tendin’ him, 
I ’spose; an’ one mornin’ I couldn’t git up, ner 
likewise fer a hull week. 


3H 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Mirandy West come ter tend me, — a good nuss, 
but deef as a chiny poodle-dog. 

“That same year there was a lot of new-comers 
in town, an’ they got some of our own natives ter 
jine ’em in makin’ up a serciety ter interfere with 
ev’ry man that swigged down whiskey; an’ ter 
go inter barrooms, empty out casks an’ bottles an’ 
scrub the barroom floors with the liquor; though 
heaven knows, some on ’em might better of stayed 
ter home an’ scrubbed their own floors with hot 
suds. ’Sides all that, they was goin’ ter git all 
the drunkards ter wear a piece of white ribbund in 
their buttonholes, er pinned ’crost their bosoms. 

“As I say, I took sick, an’ Mirandy come. I 
was a-settin’ up with pillers, but could no more 
walk, ’n ef I’d of had locum-something-er-nuther, 
— the disease what shakes yer parst life all up, an’ 
sets yer crazy thinkin’ it’s got ter be lived all over 
agin, so folks has told me. 

“ ’Twas ’bout four o’clock, jes’ ’fore Chris’mus, 
there come a knock to the front door, an’ I sent 
Mirandy ter open it. Back she come with a round 
bundle, an’ says, ‘Mis’ Layton brung this an’ a 
card.’ ‘Read it, Mirandy,’ I hollered. ‘Ha-a-ay?’ 
says she, so pervokin’. 

“So I took up the card an’ read ' With merry 
Chris’mus from the W. C. P. U.’ an’ parssed it 
over ter Mirandy, who had begun ter ontie the 
bundle. She stopped in the middle of a knot, an’ 
fixed her specs a-straddle of that little tunnip nose 
of hern ; an’ when she see them letters , she dropped 
that bundle as ef ’twas hot, an’ out tumbled a pie 
that didn’t even crack! As I leant over ter stare 
at it, Mirandy shrieked: ‘Don’t tech it! It may 



P. 315 


“ 1 flang the pie ! " 










DADDY’S WIDOW 


315 

blow yer head off! Them letters is a warnin' ! 
They’re a band of men with masks on what mur- 
ders offenseless women! O, Lord! an’ they’ve lit 
on you ! What will yer do ?’ arsked the crazy crit- 
ter. 

“She got white an’ trembly as the wall; an’ 
mebbe I was a little mite scairt, bein’ so run down 
an’ narvous. Suddenly I ’membered that Mi- 
randy might be thinkin’ them letters was fer the 
what-yer-call-’em, — the Coocoos, er Rang-ker- 
tangs, — you know what I mean, Brother Bradley, 
— the men what kills people down south. But 
never mind. 

“Suddenly I knowed that IV. C. P. U. meant the 
new serciety, ’cause I’d heerd they went by some 
queer letter-name, an’ that besides settlin’ the 
liquor business, they was alius goin’ ter do good to 
the poor an’ the sick. But what they sent a sick 
woman a pie fer, I couldn’ figger out ; an’ it made 
me hoppin’ mad ! 

“I hadn’t no strength, but I borrered ’nough ter 
git ter the kitchen door, Mirandy standin’ in a 
corner, shakin’ like a puppy’s tail when he’s pleased 
’bout sumpin’. I looked out the door an’ I see 
my speckled rooster an’ all his hens backed up 
against the south side of the chicken-coop, think- 
in’ ’bout goin’ ter roost. 

“I was kinder ’fraid ter give it to ’em, but I 
knowed they couldn’t die but once, so I flang the 
pie! The chickens see it cornin’, an’ squawked an’ 
flopped their wings, an’ run ter the rooster. 

“Well sirs, that pie struck the chicken-coop ruff, 
bounced back, an’ never come apart! I grabbed 
up a piece of wood outer the woodbox, an’ went 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


3 16 

out, — an’ me sick a-bed, mind yer, — an’ hit that 
pie a whack that broke it. Then the rooster, he 
picked at it, an’ called his fam’ly, an’ they eat all 
the insides out of it, — goodness on’y knows what 
it was stuffed with, — an' ’pun my word, them 
hens never laid another egg fer two hull weeks! 

“The Mapleton W. C. P. U. didn’ practice on 
my hens agin. 

“Findin’ out that I was still alive, some of the 
serciety called the next week fer me ter sign a 
paper ter not have no more liquor sold in Maple- 
ton. I was quite perlite, an’ I says to ’em, ‘No, 
madams ; I signs no partition that obhibits the sell- 
in’ of brandy fer mince pies! My pies may not 
be sech bouncers as some I’ve seen ; but when any 
hen er rooster gits one of my pies, it would lay 
two eggs a day stiddy, all the rest of its life!’ 

“An’ truly, I’d as ruther have a millstun tied 
’round my neck, as have a mince pie ’thout brandy 
in it, in my stummuck !” 

Later on, while listening to the many expres- 
sions of regret that Violet would not be back home 
for half a year at least, Aunt Molly’s black eyes 
twinkled as they frequently did just before her lips 
announced, “it takes a good deal to know the 
hull and those who were watching her dear face, 
knew that she was about to disclose some pleasing 
surprise. All now awaited it. 

Pretending to rearrange one or two of the paper 
flowers, (Mr. Wharton’s gift), for she was a lit- 
tle embarrassed, Aunt Molly commenced her re- 
marks slowly and softly, and as though address- 
ing the flowers in the vase: 

“I don’t often tell tales outer school; but the 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


317 

school-house is mine, an’ in it I’m still learnin’ 
Life’s lessons. Not long ago I learnt that though 
Age visits us an’ passes His icy-cold hands over 
our tresses an’ frosts ’em; though His breath in 
our faces leaves an immovable mist acrost our eyes ; 
an’ His chill, onwelcome presence freezes our roses 
so they kin nevermore come back an’ bloom in our 
cheeks, — I learnt that spite of all the cruel harm 
He does, He cannot reach our hearts , fer God’s 
good angels keep watch over them. 

“So now don’t be surprised when I tell yer all 
that Violet’s not goin’ ter stay away the hull win- 
ter; she’s cornin’ back ter be here fer November 
twenty-fifth,” — 

Here the speaker was interrupted by a sudden, 
slight commotion near where Uncle Billy was sit- 
ting; for the old gentleman, whose memory for 
other dates had always been of the worst, man- 
aged to remember that November twenty-fifth and 
he were closely related. Hearing that date men- 
tioned, caused him to turn so suddenly he nearly 
upset his chair. As he returned his hostess’s look, 
he saw there was mischief brewing. 

Again addressing the flowers, Aunt Molly re- 
sumed : — “fer there’s ter be a weddin’,” — here she 
paused and glanced toward Uncle Billy in whose 
now blushing face she read surprise and entreaty, 
which struck her as so ludicrous she could not re- 
frain from saying in a stage whisper : 

“Uncle Billy, there’s a fan in that stand drawer 
behind yer. I won’t mention yer name, so 
please don’t shed tears ner git flabbergasted;” then 
bravely addressing her guests, she continued: 

“I’m only goin’ ter say that on November twen- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


3i8 

ty-fifth, Violet’ll be back fer a spell, fer there’s ter 
be a weddin* ’tween two whose heads, but not 
whose hearts, Time has silver-plated; an’ as the 
court says when pernouncin’ sentence on culprits 
even when they admit their guilt, ‘May the Lord 
have mercy on their souls !’ ” 

This announcement of her approaching wedding 
caused her prospective bridegroom to be over- 
whelmed with congratulations; while compliments 
and loving wishes were showered upon the bride- 
to-be. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


the judge's proposal, duty versus LOVE. 

On the morning 1 following Aunt Molly's tea- 
party, Mrs. Hilliard had stopped in at Violet’s for 
a brief chat. As she was leaving, she lingered a 
moment before descending the steps, and said: 
“Here is where I first met you, — do you remem- 
ber, Violet?” 

“Perfectly! I was charmed with you, and 
thought you the embodiment of mirth and loveli- 
ness.” 

“And I thought you the most angelic woman I 
had ever met, though Harold had prepared me for 
that impression. How he admired you even then; 
while now, — oh, Violet, I wish you were my sis- 
ter !” 

“Dorothy, I feel as though I were actually 
blushing; don’t compel me to prolong the effort. 
You know what I think of ‘our squire’; he is as a 
dear brother to me.” 

“Can you not manage to squeeze him into a 
warmer corner of that dear heart of yours? You 
both would be happier, and he deserves all the 
good that can befall a man, — my noble brother!” 
said Dorothy Hilliard, enthusiastically. , 

Violet tried to change the subject. “Next week 
at this time I will be in Brooklyn. I — I have a 
slight headache,” she announced. 

319 


3 20 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“So suddenly developed? I am sorry for you. 
Poor Harold has a heartache;” rejoined Mrs. Hil- 
liard. 

“Dot, dear, if you are trying to sound my heart, t 
let me tell you that I believe in marrying once, 
only. To me, that marriage is for this life and the 
life beyond. I would not like to be told there that 
I was a bigamist. Now do not, please, speak of 
me to Judge Russell in the light which you are 
seeking. A mere word will often set a man’s 
mind into an entirely new channel, and there he 
will anchor ; though until then, the idea of anchor- 
ing at all was not in his thoughts.” 

“Not into a channel, but into an ocean of love, 
if that ‘mere word’ be yes. But Harold Russell’s 
mind will never get into a ‘new’ channel as far as 
you are concerned !” 

“Mrs. Dorothy Hilliard , Pleader! would look 
charming in gold lettering upon a blue sign. But 
can you imagine your chagrin, when, after some 
successful intercession undertaken upon your own 
responsibility, an embarrassed gentleman should 
inform you that he had had no intention of either 
offering himself or of being offered?” asked 
Violet. 

“Here comes poor Harold now ! I had no idea 
that he would call for me. I will have to leave you 
with our conversation uncompleted, for Kentucky 
Belle is not driven much, and she dislikes to stand. 
We won’t say good-bye until at the depot tomor- 
row,” said Dorothy. 

Violet Deveau knew that Harold Russell had 
not deputized his sister to speak for him; but she 


DADDY’S WIDOW 321 

was not greatly surprised when, that same eve- 
ning, he spoke for himself. 

He confessed that he had had to battle with his 
affection for her while she belonged to his friend ; 
but now he was free to declare the love he had so 
long kept locked within his breast. 

So grand and so loving ! He was a king among 
men. Violet’s heart rebelled against wounding 
his. How she longed to say, “Harold, I almost 
believe that I, too, had occasionally a tender 
thought of you , and you will never know with 
what difficulty I banished it, for duty’s sake. Now 
that it may live in my heart, I fervently say, ‘I 
love you, dear; I love you.’ ” 

But she must not. God joined man and woman 
in holy matrimony, not only during their brief 
earthly existence, but for all eternity. She dare 
not meet her God if she defied His intentions. 

A second marriage would debar her from being 
with those she loved, in the Hereafter. If Harold 
Russell only knew how firm was her belief in this, 
he would spare her the necessity of inflicting pain 
upon him, and adding to her own. 

He camp and stood beside her chair, and taking 
her hand tenderly in his, he said: “I know that 
your silence foretells a favorable reply. Darling, 
you cannot know how much I want you, — how I 
need you. I can scarcely live without you. Vio- 
let, say that you love me, and will be my wife ! Say 
it, dear one, — it is so easy; say ‘Harold, I love 
you !’ ” 

She hastily drew her hand away, and covered 
her eyes. “I cannot — oh, I must not!” she cried. 


322 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


“Why not, Violet? Am I too unworthy ?” 

“No, no, no! But there are reasons.” She was 
crying softly, and Harold Russell placed his arm 
around her neck, and tenderly drew her head to 
his breast as he said : “Tell me the reasons.” 

Only an instant did she allow her head to rest 
against the heart that yearned to be its haven. 

“Not now ; I must not. My grief is for you. I 
wish I could say what you ask me to; God knows 
I feel it!” 

“You have said it!” Harold Russell exclaimed, 
exultantly. “Violet, my loved one, I knew this 
moment must come, when I could lay your dear 
head upon my breast,” — 

“But you do not understand!” she interrupted. 
“One marriage is all that God intends us to have.” 

“And it is all we want, darling,” interposed 
Harold Russell, quickly. 

“You are so good, so noble and strong, do not 
tempt me from what I regard as right and as my 
duty, which is, to be true to the one whose wife I 
still am, and still must be, in all worlds beyond, as 
well as in this.” 

Harold Russell looked at her, pityingly. “Do 
you really believe that, Violet? I do not. We 
were placed in this beautiful world to be happy. 
Because death has taken from us one whom we 
loved, should you continue your journey alone, 
when someone here is yearning for your compan- 
ionship, and longing for your love to brighten his 
path ? I will make your life so happy, Violet, that 
not even the smallest cloud shall send a shadow 
across it. Think this over until tomorrow, dear; 
and now that I know you love me, I am sure that 



“ I drink to our love,” said he. “ And I to our duty,” she said, 
P. 323 





, 

. 














































































DADDY’S WIDOW 


323 

when Duty speaks, it will say to you, ‘Become Har- 
old Russell’s wife!’ And you will, — won’t you, 
Violet?” 

She raised her beautiful eyes to his, and he saw 
in them a sorrow that only that of death could 
equal. Then with quivering lips, and voice that 
trembled, she said : 

“I will not deny that I have thought of all this, 
and every time I permitted myself to do so, I re- 
solved to be firm. My mother taught me my belief ; 
and if I were to disregard her teachings, and marry 
you, I believe I would forfeit all right to be with 
those I have loved, — with you and with my child, 
when we, too, are called away. I love you, Har- 
old Russell; and yet I ask you, by your love for 
me, to spare me. It is love against duty; — and 
duty must not yield.” 

He kissed her forehead. His face was very 
white, and now his voice trembled as he respond- 
ed : “I will respect your wish.” 

He left her and went into the dining room a 
minute, then returned with a glass of wine which 
he handed to her, saying : “I took the liberty of an 
old friend, and poured this out without asking per- 
mission, as you have been under a strain, and re- 
quire it.” 

“I will drink it only when you have brought one 
for yourself,” said Violet. 

When he again returned, Harold Russell raised 
his glass. “I drink to our love,” said he. 

Violet’s glass was raised. “And I to our duty,” 
she said. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


DRUG STORE CRONIES. THE MODERN EVE. 

The night was stormy, and more men than 
usual were gathered in Adam Sword’s store, water 
dripping from their clothing. 

“You’re a cheerful host, not to have a fire here 
for us fellows to dry by when we come out in such 
a flood just to admire you,” said James Grinnell, 
trying to conceal the excitement that nearly palsied 
him, and that was occasioned by having seen the 
new doctor’s carriage in front of a small cottage 
in which, by tomorrow, there would be either a 
death, as he hoped, or a young mother who must 
still bear her maiden name. “My wife would 
have forty fits if she knew I was out in this storm ; 
but she’s down east, visiting her folks.” 

“Pity she’s so tender of you; don’t know you, 
eh?” remarked Adam Sword, who, with the rest, 
knew of Grinnell’s recent despicable conduct. 

“Do you?” and he looked Sword straight in the 
eyes, his own like an overgrown pig’s, but of a 
pale blue color. 

“You bet!” replied Adam, with a stare that 
made Grinnell blink. 

“Guess there won’t be many to the sociable to- 
night over to Haywood’s,” volunteered “Buster.” 

“The shepherd’ll be there, course; but he won’t 
expect his sheep ter foller him when he goes ter 
324 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


325 


seek his lost lamb,” said Matthew Robertson. 

“I wonder what Haywood is thinking of, to let 
that wolf into his fold ! I’d shoot him, sure as I'm 
born, if he came after my wife,” announced “San- 
dy,” in one of his evanescent lapses in which he 
fancied he would like to tack morality at the end 
of his brief list of virtues. 

“ ’Taint the woman , it’s her soul he’s after ; and 
the soul is the part thet us common mortals never 
sees; an’ most of us hain’t got one. But it’s ter 
gether up souls, thet men become parsons, — that, 
an’ ter shirk workin’ fer a livin’,” exclaimed orator 
Robertson. “Ef I hed my way, I’d set ev’ry darn 
one of ’em breakin’ stone.” 

“Then who’d you send for when old Death 
sharpens his scythe and comes to mow you down ?” 
asked Adam Sword. 

“You, you old sinner!” was Robertson’s polite 
reply. 

“I’d run like the devil!” replied the neighborly 
druggist. 

“You look it,” responded the coal dealer; at 
which all four cronies laughed boisterously. 

The water was still dripping from boots, coats, 
and hats ; and the mess on the floor annoyed “Bus- 
ter,” whose wife, after years of effort, had 
succeeded in making comparatively neat. 

“Say, Sword,” he suggested, “ef you keep a flock 
of ducks in your kitchen, better let ‘Lengthy’ shoo 
’em in here and let ’em swim in these puddles we’re 
makin’ ; or else give me a broom to sweep the wa- 
ter out with. Say, got any cough drops ? I don’t 
often ketch the croup, but my chest feels sorter 
tight, tonight.” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


326 

“If you get home with only your chest tight, 
’twill be a new sensation,” remarked “Sandy”; at 
which there was another loud “Haw, haw, haw!” 

“The widder Deveau has gone to the city, I see, 
ter visit that gal o’ hern,” asserted “Lengthy,” the 
tallest man in the county. 

“How did yer ‘see’? Was you lookin’ down the 
widder’s chimbly?” asked Robertson, who raised 
his voice, drowning “Lengthy’s” reply, as he con- 
tinued: “Talk ’bout seem’ things ! Gosh! ef I warn’t 
treated to a sight early one mornin’! ’T warn’t 
quite daylight, an’ as I was passin’ ‘Lengthy’s’ 
house, I see sunthin’ white at one of the bedroom 
winders. Fust I thought it were a ghost, an’ I was 
goin’ ter raise my gun. Then, when I looked 
closter, I hed to put my hand up ter hide my 
blushes, ’cause the Agger was Mrs. ‘Lengthy/ 
togged out in her robe-de-newt , as the Gray useter 
say. I hollered up to her: ‘Wait, Juliet; I’m yer 
Romeo !’ 

“I don’t b’lieve she’s much on poitry, fer she 
made no reply ’cep’ ter holler back: ‘Theodore is 
straightenin’ out in bed, an’ I hafter open the win- 
der so’s there’ll be room fer his feet!’ But that 
haint all; when I come back by there, there was 
‘Lengthy’s’ feet a-hangin’ out, an’ a flock of tur- 
keys was roostin’ on his ankles.” 

“How many did yer swipe?” asked “Lengthy.” 
“But le’s finish ’bout the widder. I alius thought 
Doc Russell was queer in the upper story, an’ this 
proves it. When he could git either of the Del- 
more gals, bright an’ chippy as robins, no, he don’t 
want ’em ; he wants the widder. He’s the fust mule 
ever I knowed thet perferred hay ter clover ” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


327 

“Mebbe his mind hain’t made up yit; mebbe he’s 
vaccinatin’ from ’tother ter which,” said Robert- 
son. “Guess I'll have a box of them ere cough- 
drops, too, Sword. I might be ast ter sing in the 
choir, an’ I want ter keep my voice sweet an’ mel- 
ler.” 

“That’s a good one !” exclaimed “Buster,” 
laughing. “Wouldn’t need no choir ef you tuned 
up, fer the congergation an’ the shepherd, too, 
would all scamper. What d’yer think, boys? I 
went by his house one Sunday, an’ thought I heard 
a lot of bull-frogs in the pond back of him, croak- 
in’ their prettiest. But when I got closer, ef 
’twarn’t the rascal himself, singin’ the hymn, 
‘When the Gen’ral Roll is Called I’ll Be There!’ 
Guy ! but I run my horse like blazes then, ’cause I 
knowed the Old Boy had been ter see Matt, who 
was singin’ out his promise ter keep his ’p’intmunt 
between ’em.” 

A little later, when all except Robertson, “San- 
dy,” and “Buster,” had gone, Mrs. Sword came in 
with a dish of big, golden pippins, and selecting the 
finest one among them, offered it to Robertson, 
whom she greatly admired. To the surprise of the 
other men, he put both hands behind him, shook 
his head, and said : “No yer don’t, ma’am ! I know 
the trouble the feller your husband’s named arfter, 
got inter, fer fakin' an apple from a woman!" 

When the applause following Robertson’s re- 
mark had subsided, '‘Sandy” arose, saying : “Well, 
by-bye ; — I’m going to swim home.” 

“Hoi’ on!” called “Buster,” “and I’ll brave the 
torrent with you !” 

“Sandy” paid no attention to his chum’s com- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


328 

mand; but a minute later he returned and an- 
nounced to the others : “The parson just drove by, 
bound south, and it’s only ten o’clock. I wonder 
if Amy gave him the mitten!” 

“PYaps Haywood gave him the boot!” sug- 
gested Mrs. Sword. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


AUNT MOLLY OVERHEARS; THEN ROMANCES. 

During the afternoon and evening of her tea- 
party, Aunt Molly’s duties as hostess had not so 
monopolized her mind but what she noted the ten- 
derness in Mrs. Bradley’s glances when they rested 
upon her husband’s, Brother Bradley’s, face; and 
the kind old lady resolved that for the sake of that 
true, loving woman, it was her duty to speak to 
her pastor, and have him quell the rumors now in 
general circulation about himself and Amy Hay- 
wood, before those rumors could reach and dis- 
turb his trusting wife. 

Immediately after an early supper one evening, 
Aunt Molly started out to have a short, confiden- 
tial talk with Brother Bradley at the parsonage. 
Several neighbors whom she met on her way, 
stopped and chatted so long, that it was later than 
she knew when she reached the pastor’s gate, al- 
though, hoping to make up her lost moments, she 
had skimmed rapidly along the wide avenue whose 
paths were bordered by the locust trees Daddy had 
set out there fifty years before, and that early each 
fall, as though in his memory, sent their golden 
leaves shimmering down to make a soft carpet be- 
neath the feet of his widow, when, on her various 
errands of kindness, she walked beneath them. 
Her hand was upon the gate-latch, when she heard 
3 2 9 


33 ° 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


voices near the door, and next saw a man come 
hurriedly out upon the porch. Surely, the man 
was Brother Bradley; and yet his tone was cer- 
tainly impatient, as he exclaimed: 

“It is purely in connection with my clerical 
duties that I am obliged to go. Do not detain 
me !” 

“Henry, wait one moment, please! I am not 
nervous, — or perhaps I am. This letter and these 
rumors grieve me so ! Must you go to Mrs. Hay- 
wood’s to-night?” This was, unmistakably, Mrs. 
Bradley’s voice, and Aunt Molly detected tears 
in it. 

“I have told you, yes!” 

Aunt Molly stepped behind a big locust tree 
where she could still hear distinctly. 

“Assure me once more that you do not care for 
her except as her pastor! O, you cannot know 
how this news of your attentions to her has upset 
me, — your wife, Henry!” 

“Of course, Jeannette, you, and you only, fill 
my heart ; and you must believe it now and for all 
time,” responded Brother Bradley. 

“But, dearest, other strong men have been 
tempted, and have finally yielded.” 

“Jeannette, when I go, under the banner of 
Christ, from my wife’s pure embraces, to seek or 
receive those of another woman, may the Father 
of Love and of Justice, avenge you, and palsy 
me!” declared Brother Bradley, solemnly. 

There was joy in Mrs. Bradley’s voice as she 
now with renewed faith in her husband, replied: 
“I believe and trust you, Henrv: and oh, how I 
love you, dear! I wish every wife in the land could 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


33 11 

trust her husband as I will, from this night, trust 
you, though all the world combine to shake my 
faith.” 

Aunt Molly next heard a kiss; and then, as 
Brother Bradley came down the parsonage steps, 
she gathered her skirts closely, and kept well out 
of sight behind the tree. 

‘Too late fer our little confab ternight! but any- 
how, it’s all right twixt him an’ his wife, God 
bless ’em! Now whoever could of had the cussed 
cruelness ter write her a letter!” soliloquized the 
listener behind the locust tree. “Nobuddy but 
that wicked drug store gang, fer they all hate 
pureness, an’ when they know it is in their mi’st, 
they’re mad ’nough ter chew a tenp’ny nail in 
two !” 

Aunt Molly only waited for the sound of 
Brother Bradley’s footsteps to die away, and then 
she went up and knocked at the door, through the 
lace-curtained part of which she saw Mrs. Bradley 
coming along the lighted hall, smiling as only 
unalloyed happiness will permit one to. The bolt 
was drawn, the door wide-opened, and the happy 
wife gave her caller a cordial welcome. 

“Jes’ thought I’d drop in as I was a-passin,’ an' 
set ’long er you fer a spell. It’s lonesome down ter 
my place, sometimes. I see Brother Brad- 
ley goin’ ’long up street, but I reckon he didn’ see 
me. What a noble critter he is ! No wonder men 
envy him; didn’t they lie even ’bout our Savior? 
Course they did! Some folks carn’t stan’ the 
light of other folk’s goodness; it makes their own 
blackness too conspickyus.” 

“Has anyone been slandering my husband? 


332 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


Surely there was nothing to occasion it,” said Mrs. 
Bradley, desiring to give the impression that she 
had heard nothing of current rumors. 

“O, some says, some narrer-minded heretics 
says, as how he is so sociable ter ev’rybuddy, an* 
makes no choice ’mongst rich, poor, black, white, 
pink, er yaller; an' that he oughtenter not do so. 

“Now I know of his settin’ an’ holdin’ old Mis* 
Baker’s hand, skinny an’ wrinkleder’n a ten-year- 
old gander’s, — nigh onter eighty-seven she was, — 
an’ he held it so sof’ an’ tender, jes’ as ef his 
heart was a-sendin’ a message by that old woman 
as she lay there, startin’ out on her larst, long 
journey ter the Other Country! 

“An’ I know how one stormy night when he 
said goodbye ter Mr. Haywood at Home-at-Larst, 
(Uncle Billy was parssin’ an’ seen ’em a-shakin’ 
hands) — how he went in a thunder an’ lightnin’ 
storm an’ all, ter give constellation ter poor ole 
dyin’ Jack Talmidge ; an’ how he knelt down onter 
the floor in that nigger hut, an’ prayed as earnest 
an’ tender as ef he was on a palace floor inlaid with 
precious stones. 

“I tell yer, Mrs. Bradley, your husbun’ is pure 
gold! He needn’t be ’shamed ter show his hands 
when the Marster has called him Up Yunder!” 

Mrs. Bradley, true woman that she was, had 
eagerly grasped and permanently retained the 
mental picture that Aunt Molly had drawn, of Mr. 
Haywood and Brother Bradley clasping hands; 
while the cheerful, well-meaning artist, when her 
evening’s mission ended, returned to her cottage 
and enjoyed a peaceful night’s rest. 

Dear old soul! When you reach that “Other 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


333 


Country/’ — when you are called “Up Yunder,” 
Aunt Molly, you will learn that your recording 
angel tore out the leaf whereon he had written 
your fabrication to Mrs. Bradley, for he was cer- 
tain that God knew the purity of motive actuat- 
ing it. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION. PRAYER^ POWER'. 

Every pew in Brother Bradley’s church was 
filled one Sunday evening, for in addition to the 
usual eloquent discourse by the pastor, and music 
by the choir, there was to be a solo by a baritone 
of some repute, a Mr. Lester Mallow, Amy Hay- 
wood’s brother. 

When the sermon ended, half the congregation 
turned around to look up into the choir, and see 
what manner of man it was who was about to 
soothe their breasts. Mrs. Haywood played a few 
minor chords; then in a particularly sweet, clear 
voice, her brother began that exquisite, melodious, 
song: “Flee as a Bird to Yom Mountain 

Beautifully did the pathos in the singer’s voice 
bring out the picture! Those whose age-dimmed 
eyes would soon close upon this world, as well as 
the young and imaginative, almost saw the sin- 
laden bird slowly approaching the mountain, its 
tired wings scarcely able to flutter; so weary! but 
it has nearly reached the pool, beautiful and unrip- 
pled, where it can, after laying down its burden, 
lave refreshingly. As its feet rest but an instant 
on the velvety, green border of the water, sud- 
denly behind it comes thundering, The Avenger! 

As soon as uttered, its despairing cry of fear is 
334 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


335 

heard by the loving, pitying Savior, and on His 
breast, it finds a safe refuge. 

Even Brother Bradley, seated in his big, altar 
chair, his chin upon his hand, feels the compari- 
son so real, that he almost seems to touch the Mas- 
ter’s garment. Further than this in his thoughts 
we cannot penetrate. 

An interlude, and then all breathlessly await the 
second stanza. 

The sweet voice had begun again ; but, strangely, 
it was repeating the first verse. Some were glad; 
others pitied the singer, — he must have discovered 
his mistake, and be embarrassed! Still that ex- 
quisite melody poured forth. “Where you may 
wash and be clean,” came so sweetly, so appeal- 
ingly. At the next line, the singer startled his 
hearers, with his sudden, powerful, “Fly! for The 
Avenger is near thee!” And immediately, and as 
though to give full force to his utterance, — to 
make it realistic, — he swayed forward, — plunged 
over the railing, and fell headlong down into a 
pew below him ! 

The screams of the woman whose artificial teeth 
had been dislocated, and the cry of pain from the 
old, bald-headed sexton whose skull had been 
nearly cracked, caused general consternation that 
preceded a rush for the doors. Brother Bradley 
hurried down the aisle, expecting to see Mr. Mal- 
low either bruised or bleeding, or in a fit; but — 
the singer’s fall had merely sobered him! 

Long and ever green in the memory of Maple- 
tonians will be that Sabbath evening incident, 
when they were borne far away into Holy Land 
and quickly returned to little Long Island, upon 


336 DADDY’S WIDOW 

imaginary wings constructed from the voice of an 
intoxicated man! 

The church sociable held at Mrs. Haywood’s, to 
which the drug-store cronies had referred, had 
been a total failure. Brother Bradley had kindly 
endeavored to persuade Mrs. Haywood that it was 
entirely owing to the inclement weather, for he so 
believed ; but that lady knew too well that had the 
evening been fine, many of the members would 
have attended under protest, and only out of re- 
spect to their pastor. 

Besides Brother Bradley, there had been but 
one member present, and that individual was Mrs. 
Porter, who, about a year ago, had brought her- 
self to tolerate Mrs. Haywood, then to patronize 
her, and now was her most frequent guest. Mrs. 
Porter enjoyed nothing better than a good, square 
meal; so, ignoring surrounding conditions, and 
with her conscience wrapped in the folds of silk on 
her bonnet lying on a sofa in the hotel parlor, she 
masticated with such gusto she was oblivious to 
her proximity to Mrs. Haywood’s silken hosiery, 
and also, twenty rods away, to the spot where 
drunken niggers lay, — according to her own state- 
ments a few years previous. 

How comforting to Mrs. Haywood had been her 
pastor’s sympathy, after her brother Lester had 
disgraced her, last Sunday! And now, tonight 
again would sympathy be extended; for Brother 
Bradley was coming to see her in regard to the 
music for next Sunday; and because he knew, as 
no one else did, how her heart had been set upon 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


337 

entertaining the church members and their friends, 
in her sumptuously furnished home. 

The red globe over the lighted piano-lamp, shed 
an enchanting glow upon everything, not except- 
ing Amy Haywood’s handsome face. The exqui- 
site pink tint it gave her always-beautiful com- 
plexion, made Brother Bradley think he had never 
before seen so charming an animated picture as 
she presented. 

The lady and her guest were in the former’s sit- 
ting room, where no one would intrude. The gilt 
clock in front of the mirror on the mantle, had, in 
its bell-like tone, struck the half hour after eight, 
when Amy, in a pale green silk gown, with a clus- 
ter of fragrant pink carnations fastened upon her 
white lace corsage, arose from her chair, and draw- 
ing an ottoman close beside Brother Bradley’s 
chair, seated herself upon it; then, looking wist- 
fully up into his eyes, she said : 

“Please, dear counselor, let me come to you to- 
night, just as a little child would; and you are to 
forget, for the moment, that I am a woman whose 
life is nearly half spent, and regard me as only a 
child almost lost in life’s intricate maze. Let me 
lay my hand upon yours, — so ; and the sympathetic 
thrill it receives, shall help me.” 

(Did Brother Bradley place his other hand upon 
hers?) 

“Ask what you will, dear child, and I will help 
you all I can; — poor, tempest-tossed one, striving 
so bravely to face the storms of life!” 

“First, let me tell you a story; — I said long ago 
that I would. It is a true story, and you must not 
interrupt me until I have finished.” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


338 

“I will not interrupt you.” 

“Once upon a time, there was a little girl, — a 
good little girl, who grew to be a young woman. 
You know little girls usually do that. Well, this 
young woman had several admirers, and finally 
she married one of them and was for a time con- 
tented with her life, though not happy. She did 
not yet know what love was. Gradually, a long- 
ing for a better and more useful life came to her. 
The cold, calm politeness of her husband could not 
satisfy her, but made her hunger for the affection 
which a nature like his was unable to entertain for 
her. 

“After several years of such a life, she knelt by 
her bedside one evening and asked God for some 
sign denoting whether or not she must ever con- 
tinue in that frigid, uncongenial atmosphere; or 
whether He would in time give her someone to 
love as intensely as she felt it was in her to love. 
She believed that God Himself had given her a 
well-spring of affection, to which the man she had 
married could not respond. 

“It was after she had offered her petition, that 
she suddenly made up her mind to attend a church 
reception.” 

Brother Bradley, desiring to check what he now 
knew must follow, yet mindful of his promise, at- 
tempted to withdraw his hand; but his compan- 
ion's warm one pressed it tightly. 

“She went, and, — upon her return to her home 
that night, she again knelt ; but this time it was to 
thank God that her prayer was answered!” 

Compassion beamed from Brother Bradley's 
clear, dark blue eyes, as he looked into the beauti- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


339 

ful black eyes of the lovely woman so temptingly 
near him. He attempted to speak; but she, so 
close beside him, placed one hand over his mouth. 

(Was ever a pretty woman’s hand so close to a 
man’s lips and not kissed?) 

“From that hour, a new era dawned for her. 
The sun shone with unprecedented splendor in a 
sky never before so blue; the flowers bloomed with 
more brilliant hues ; and the river that rippled along 
under the little rustic bridge at the end of the 
lawn, sang only of love, and peace, and hope; — 
its song being but the echo of the one that filled the 
woman’s heart. 

“But gradually that peace gave way to tumult, 
whenever she saw this man whom God had sent 
her. Then his presence became necessary to her 
existence; — his every word was a pearl that fell 
from lips she worshiped, — but had never 
touched.” 

“Stop! Stop! — You must not continue in this 
strain! Do you realize all you are saying? Do 
you forget your ties as well as mine?” asked 
Brother Bradley, his voice hoarse, his blue eyes 
almost black, so intensely wrought up was he. 

“I remember them too well; and that but for 
them, I would not be pleading tonight. But you 
would be; would you not? I know that the no- 
bility of your nature will prevent your giving ut- 
terance to one disloyal word. So I prove the 
depth and intensity of my love for you, by volun- 
tarily making a declaration which honor prevents 
your requesting me to admit.” 

Brother Bradley was sorely perplexed. He did 
not immediately grasp the entire situation, though 


340 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


enough of it to know that the responsibility did 
not rest alone upon the beautiful pleader at his 
side. 

“Let me recall, if I can, each of our meetings 
and see wherein I could have saved you this ; and 
what small proportion, if any, of the blame at- 
taches to you,” he said, as he arose and paced the 
floor. Then he stood a moment, the arm across 
his breast supporting his elbow, his chin upon his 
hand, his grand head bowed. 

His beautiful companion glided up to him, and 
laid her head upon his shoulder. “Just this once, 
— only once, though later you scorn me,” she 
pleaded. 

He felt the heaving of her bosom ; how slight a 
bend of his head would place his cheek upon hers ! 
Instead, he placed his hands upon her shoulders, 
and said: “Amy, raise your head and look at me! 
Dear one, how far am I to blame for this ?” 

“How far?” she asked in evident surprise. 
“Did you not know that I was growing to love 
vou, to worship you so, that when I prayed God at 
night, your dear face came between my Maker and 
me, until I would recommence my prayer again 
and again? You could have stopped me before my 
affection attained the depth it has now reached. 
But you made no attempt to do so, and I naturally 
assumed that our meetings, which made my pulses 
quicken, gave you pleasure as well. I read it in 
your face, — in those beautiful, soulful eyes,” — a 
moment’s pause, and then with all the fervor of 
her soul, she added: “Henry Bradley, I love you ! 
I will risk everything for you! — risk home, and 
friends, and — name!” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


341 


The woman’s head was bowed; the last word 
had come faintly; but its awful import staggered 
Brother Bradley, whose trembling hands almost 
fell from her shoulders. He reeled rather than 
stepped back, and heard but indistinctly when his 
companion, in a voice of subdued excitement, after 
a brief pause, continued : 

“I have said all I have to say; — how do you 
answer me?” 

With one passionately loving look into her pas- 
tor’s eyes, she turned from him, went and knelt 
beside her elegant couch and buried her face in 
her hands. 

Seated in a big easy-chair, Brother Bradley was 
thinking more rapidly than ever before in his life. 
Soon his companion’s sobs aroused him; he went 
and knelt beside her. It was a crucial moment; 
following it, with one hand laid softly upon the 
beautiful bowed head so close beside him, he raised 
his face heavenward and prayed the dear Father 
Above to help them both, but to punish him only, 
as his was the blame! He prayed that sufficient 
strength be given the dear one at his side, to con- 
quer the passion that surged in her breast; and 
that, as now they must part, — 

“Dear Lord, when I love him so !” moaned Amy 
Haywood. 

v — each might go their separate way, with kindest 
thought for the other, and with such love only as 
would, now and hereafter, meet His approving 
smile. 

The prayer finished, Brother Bradley arose, as- 
sisted Amy Haywood to her feet, and with broth- 
erly tenderness, led her to a chair. She was still 


342 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


sobbing. “This is the end ; — the bitter, cruel 
end!” she cried. 

“It is best so,” responded Brother Bradley, 
strengthened by his supplication till his voice was 
almost as calm as it was sadly sweet. “God will 
give us strength. Trust Him; — such trust is 
never misplaced. He will lead you and guide you 
through paths of peace, sweeter to you as the years 
roll by, than would be the memory of an unhal- 
lowed love.” 

The sobbing had ceased, and excitement was 
yielding to remorse and anguish. “Oh, that I 
could blot out the past hour! My humiliation will 
kill me!” and the handsome speaker’s head bowed 
low with shame. 

What man could passively endure such a sight? 
Instinctively extending his arms, Brother Brad- 
ley suddenly advanced a step toward his sorrow- 
ing companion, — but only a step, — and then as 
suddenly stopped, while from his bleeding heart 
his trembling lips carried the appeal : “Have mercy, 
oh, 'our Father !” 

An instant’s silence while the prayer sped on; 
and then, with the gladness of a conqueror in his 
tones, he continued : “My dear friend, there is no 
humiliation for you; there is victory! a grand vic- 
tory of purity and strength over temptation and 
sin! You are a hundred times dearer to me in our 
true, pure relations as brother and sister in Christ , 
than had we, — we, I say, — not resisted and fought 
our battle to a finish. Sister, do you still respect 
your pastor?” 

She placed her hand in his which had been ex- 
tended to receive it. “Pray for me, Brother Brad- 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


343 

ley ; pray for me as for a soul that was nearly lost, 
— a soul that but an hour since would have gladly 
descended into the lowest depths of hell, could it 
first have claimed your love. 

“I shall leave this town; — I wish I might leave 
the world this night, — and try to forget. To for- 
get! How much the mocking words mean!’’ 

“Do not you think of going away! This is 
your home, — your people are here, — your child- 
hood was spent in this town, and dearest associa- 
tions must entwine around it. You shall not leave 
-on my account. / will go, and then it will be 
easier for you to forget,” — he checked himself be- 
fore uttering : — “and for me !” 

He extended his hand, and again hers responded 
and nestled in it. How hers trembled! Poor, 
lonely, suffering heart, to be left thus ! 

One step took him close to her. He tenderly 
pressed, then slowly released, her hand. How 
pleadingly the dark eyes looked into his! How 
tremulous were the full, red lips ! 

He took the sweet, pitiful face between his 
hands, gazed into it a moment, then kissed — not 
the longing lips, but the smooth, white brow. An 
instant; then, “Good-bye, sister!” 

“Goodbye, Brother Bradley!” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


TRAMPS. AUNT MOLLY A HEROINE. HER TELE- 
GRAM. love and duty. 

Violet had left the keys of her house with Mrs. 
Hilliard, and Judge Russell had had the windows 
boarded up, and every entrance securely fastened. 
Some of the neighbors thought such precaution un- 
necessary in so quiet a community, as a dozen 
years since it would have been. But now that sev- 
eral old, honest natives had been induced to sell off 
large tracts of land, that had been divided into 
small plots, resold, and then built and settled upon, 
it was learned, too late, that the new element, in 
many instances, was undesirable. 

There had been a number of robberies after Vio- 
let left. Uncle Billy, even, had become so worried 
for fear that Aunt Molly’s house would be entered, 
that he called there early each morning. 

Judge Russell had been holding court in the 
town hall, presiding over a trial where an insignifi- 
cant lawyer, aiming for the district-attorneyship, 
was tearing to shreds the reputation of a witness 
against his client, though he knew that her char- 
acter was above reproach. The fellow’s cruel and 
unwarranted attack had angered Judge Russell, 
who was acquainted with all the parties concerned ; 
and had the jury not brought in a verdict against 
the slanderer’s client, an application for a new trial 
344 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


345 


would have been granted the defendant, whose able 
lawyer, Raymond Niles, was deservedly compli- 
mented by both judge and jury. 

Tired and somewhat hungry, Judge Russell was 
just driving in at his gate, when he was met by 
Larry who informed him that two suspicious look- 
ing men had been lurking around, and had finally 
gone up Deveau’s Road. 

Without hesitating an instant, Harold Russell 
left his carriage and hurried alone across lots (the 
quicker way) to the house that had sheltered the 
woman he loved more than his life. He had with 
him a key to the rear door. He saw no one around, 
but found that the boards had been pried from 
one of the back windows, which was still fastened. 
Hastily opening the door, and locking it behind 
him, he was about to turn and enter the dining 
room, when he felt a blow, saw stars and cart- 
wheels, and knew no more! 

Mrs. Hilliard, carrying an immense bouquet of 
dahlias, — yellow, purple, white, and pink, — was re- 
turning from a call at the little white cottage, and 
her hostess was accompanying her part of the way 
home. When they reached the Deveau place, 
Dorothy suggested that they go in and look around 
to see that all was right. They walked leisurely up 
the graveled path, and were nearly at the house, 
when both were startled by unmistakable groans. 

“What upun ’arth, — who is it, do yer spose?” 
Aunt Molly asked Mrs. Hilliard, who, totally 
unable to answer the question, said : “Let us hurry 
on, — Brother Harold is surely home by this time, 
and he will send help at once,” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


346 

“You run ’long, then, whilst I wait here. Mebbe 
I kin git in, some’eres. No, ev’ry ’tarnal door an’ 
winder is fast !” 

Just then they saw two men, disreputable look- 
ing fellows, peeping cautiously out from behind the 
barn. Mrs. Hilliard was all but paralyzed with 
fear ; but Aunt Molly turned around and exclaimed 
loudly : “My men folks is all a-comin’ ! Here they 
come, sixteen on ’em, all runnin’ ’crost lots!” 
Then raising her voice to its loudest extent, she 
called : “Hey ! Come this way !” as she waved her 
arms frantically to an imaginary lot of men. 

The tramps ran ’down the road and darted into 
the thick woods. 

“They won’t come back ; now either you go fer 
help, er I’ll hafter,” declared Aunt Molly. 

“Oh, Aunt Molly, dear, let us both go! But is 
it safe to pass the woods with those men secreted 
there ?” 

“Men there? They’re a-leggin’ it a blue streak 
an’ wishin’ they had wings onter their boots. But 
you run ’crost lots, — that’ll be safe, sure. An’ 
hurry! A human bein’ is a-dyin’ in this ere house; 
nobuddy b’longin’ ter us, but somehuddy must 
be his mother!” 

“I’ll go!” exclaimed Dorothy, who immediately 
with surprising fleetness, ran farther from the 
brother she went to seek. 

Aunt Molly listened by each window in turn, in 
order to locate the room from which the groans 
proceeded. They came unmistakably from the din- 
ing room. Suppose Uncle Billy were dying in 
there ! No, he seldom left home as early as this. 

Next Aunt Molly thought she would call, and 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


347 

perhaps the sufferer might reply. She would com- 
mence with the name that, next to Violet’s and 
Elva’s, was dearest to her. 

“Is it you, Doctor Russell ?” she called, her trem- 
bling voice full of tenderness, as she almost prayed 
to hear a negative answer. 

A prolonged groan came in response to her 
query. She shuddered. 

“Doctor Russell, Doctor Russell !” (No thought 
of applying the judicial title now ; and, besides, the 
older one always was nearer the old lady’s heart.) 
“Is it you? Ef it is you, poor child, groan twice, 
good an’ loud; an’ ef ’taint, groan three times! 
do !” 

Two distinct groans were given. 

“Good God!” cried the listener, softly; then 
aloud : “Don’t think of despairin’, so long’s it’s 
you. I’m a-comin’ ! It’s on’y poor old Aunt Molly, 
all alone, — but Til git there!” 

No club; no axe; no anything with which to 
batter the door panel in! Suddenly she thought 
of the cellar, with its little, low windows. Could 
she get through one of them ? Thank God for once 
that she was no fatter than a pipe-stem. She 
kicked out three small panes of glass, and unbut- 
toned the sash; removing that, she threw herself 
flat upon the ground, and inserted her head and 
shoulders through the window frame. But she 
would break her neck if she went through to the 
cellar, head first; so, withdrawing her head, she 
turned around and put her feet in. ’Twas a tight 
squeeze to get her body through. Her face grazed 
the sand and dirt upon the window sill; — a down- 


348 DADDY’S WIDOW 

ward spring, — and Aunt Molly landed upon the 
cellar bottom. 

“I’m ’most there, Doctor; old Aunt Molly’s 
’most to yer ; cornin’ up the suller stairs, now,” she 
called out, reassuringly. Her hands were bleed- 
ing, but she was not aware of it. 

It seemed to her that there were a hundred steps, 
instead of a dozen, to climb. At last she reached 
the final one. The sash door at the top of the 
stairs zms locked and bolted! 

It took a little time to remove her shoe, while 
standing upon the top step ; then with it she broke 
the glass, and running her hand inside, unfastened 
the door. 

All was dark in the kitchen, but she knew the 
right turn to take to get to the door of the dining 
room, where, upon the floor, bound and gagged, 
lay Harold Russell, his eyes closed, and his wavy 
black hair matted with blood. 

Aunt Molly removed the gag from his mouth, 
lighted a lamp upon the mantle, got a knife from 
the drawer in the kitchen table, and cut the ropes 
that bound his wrists and ankles. After placing 
a couch pillow under his head, she hurriedly took 
from Violet’s medicine cabinet in the corner, a 
flask of brandy, and gave some to the almost un- 
conscious sufferer, all the time talking hopefully to 
him. 

“Poor lamb, do yer know where yer be? You’re 
right here! Yes, here yer be, safe in Violet’s 
house; you knozv Violet ! Do yer know me? Help 
is ’most here now. Keep perfeckly quiet. We all 
love yer; an’ Violet , — why, bless yer heart, Violet’s 
loved yer fer years!” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


349 


Then, accompanying calls for Aunt Molly, came 
thunderous raps upon the front door; and the lit- 
tle, self-forgetting soul opened the door and ad- 
mitted Dorothy, Brother Bradley, Larry, and sev- 
eral others. 

Judge Russell was tenderly conveyed to the car- 
riage waiting for him, and as it started homeward, 
Aunt Molly fell, unconscious. 

* * * * * 

Brother Bradley and Uncle Billy chanced to 
meet at the gate of the little cottage that evening, 
and when they entered the house, they found that 
the women assembled there had finally succeeded 
in getting Aunt Molly to consent to being what 
she termed “coddled,” but what was merely reclin- 
ing in a high-backed easy-chair, and for once, ab- 
solutely resting. Her face was shining with the 
salve they had applied ; her left hand was bandaged, 
and one eye was nearly closed. 

As the two gentlemen approached her chair, she 
laughed hysterically, and then said : “Don’t look 
at me in that tone of voice ! Ef there hadn’t been 
nuthin’ of me, I couldn’t of done it ; an’ ef I hadn’t 
of been a reg’lar tom-boy when I was a girl, an’ 
dumb down outer trees, an’ rid down hill on my 
stummuck on a sled in winter, I couldn’t never of 
got inter that suller! 

“On’y the good Lord knows how thankful I be 
that I could pay Doctor Russell a part of the good- 
will I owe him. My hands is scraped a little, but 
new skin will grow onto ’em afore — afore some 
time nex’ month !” 

While Aunt Molly was talking, Brother Bradley 
was arranging the bandage on her hand ; and Uncle 


350 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


Billy, standing on tip-toes, was endeavoring to 
look over the minister’s shoulder, at the injured 
member that had become very dear to him, and 
he knew that now and for evermore, no youthful, 
dimpled hand with tapering, pink-tipped fingers, 
could be half as lovely to him, as was the brown, 
wrinkled, full-veined hand with its enlarged finger- 
joints, that now was calling forth sympathy from 
all who saw it. 

To be compelled to look helplessly on while the 
woman he loved was suffering, and to be unable 
to express a single word of pity, made the old gen- 
tleman almost wild. All he could do was to im- 
plore her to allow him to run for the new doctor ; 
but to that she would not consent. 

“What do I want of him? I haint got nuther 
pendlekitis, ner whoopin’ cough. But I trust that 
Doctor Russell is safe in his hands. He may 
know ’nough ter go in when it rains; but I’ll bet 
that what he don’t know would fill a book.” 

After everyone except the young woman who 
insisted upon remaining over night, had gone, and 
she had retired, Aunt Molly held one of her solitary 
consultations, in which she told herself : “I’m 
thankful ’twarn’t my right hand stidder this one, 
fer I must git a letter off ter Violet in the mornin’ 
mail. She’s the on’y bein’ on ’arth as kin bring 
Doctor Russell ’round quick. 

“Come ter think on’t, I won’t write; I’ll git 
’round early an’ send a telegraft!” 

When the operator at the Mapleton station 
reached there the following morning, he found 
awaiting him a well-known old lady, with eyes so 
swollen she could scarcely open them; and who, 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


35 1 

with her bandaged left hand upon the edge of the 
telegraph blank, held the paper in position, while 
with her right hand she indicted the quaintest des- 
patch ever sent along the wires. When it was 
finished, she handed it to the good-natured opera- 
tor, who read : 

“Squair Russel gagged in your house, tramps, 
may dye. come amejut. 

“Lovin Ant Molly.” 

Thinking to do her a kindness, and not desiring 
that other eyes should see the errors which he be- 
lieved the old lady would gladly have him rectify, 
the operator asked : “Shall I make one or two little 
corrections for you in this?” 

“Don’t you dare ter!” was the emphatic reply. 
Upon the man’s assurance that the message would 
be sent at once, Aunt Molly hurried from the of- 
fice and started homeward. She had not had her 
breakfast, but was oblivious to the fact. 

“I won’t say nuthin’ ter nobuddy, I guess. Vio- 
let’s sure ter git here afore supper, ef the train gits 
in on sheddle time, ’cordin’ ter the new time-table 
I got when I was down to Greenport, after Thirzie 
Ann lost her baby. I sharn’t turn inter my road ; 
I’ll keep right on up ter Doctor Russellses. No 
tellin’ how many blows them tramps give him onter 
his temples, any one of which may be fatal. Mebbe 
Dorothy needs me, too.” 

Having thus decided, Aunt Molly sped along to 
Cedarvale. 

Dorothy did need her. She had had no sleep, 
and the shock of yesterday had nearly prostrated 


352 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


her. The moment Aunt Molly entered the room, 
however, Dorothy flew to her, and embracing her, 
exclaimed hysterically : 

“You never can know how we appreciate and # 
love you, you dearest soul, — you brave, noble 
woman! We owe our lives to you; do you think 
we will ever forget that ? The doctor says Harold 
will live, but oh, if he should not ! What may to- 
morrow bring forth !” 

Dorothy Hilliard’s tears, again started, now fell 
in torrents, while Aunt Molly’s uninjured hand 
tenderly stroked her hair, as she tried her best to 
soothe her. 

“There, my child, don’t be so anxious ’bout ter- 
morrer, — ’t’ill come anyhow. Don’t fear it’s 
storms, — the clear sun may shine hard all day. 
An’ don’t — you — worry! Jes’ keep lookin’ up’ard ; 
an’ ef you don’t see the Good Cap’n’s Face, He’ll 
see yourn, all the same. So jes’ drift! an’ ’mem- 
ber alius, that whether our craft is a floatin’ pal- 
ace, er a rickerty shell, — God is to the helium !” 

About five o’clock that evening Dorothy was 
joyfully surprised to hear Violet’s voice inquiring 
for her. 

After receiving a full account of the terrible oc- 
currence of the previous day, and listening to 
varied conjectures as to how she could have known 
of Dorothy’s longing for her presence, Violet 
showed the telegram she received from Aunt 
Molly, which to this day, Squire Russell treasures. 

It was decided that it would be better not to ap- 
prise Harold of Violet’s arrival till later; but he 
Had heard her voice, and asked for her. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


353 

“You know the way, dear ; the poor fellow is in 
the library,” said Mrs. Hilliard. 

“Come with me, Dorothy,” Violet requested,’ 
pleadingly. 

Dorothy accompanied her down the stairs and to 
the door of the room where Harold lay, and then 
said, softly: “Go in alone, dear. Two of us at a 
time might excite him !” 

Cautious Dorothy! 

Alone with her in the semi-darkened room, lay 
the one man on earth for whom Violet Deveau 
would give her ^fq. As she looked at the ban- 
dage around his head, she recalled that it was in 
her home and while he was trying to protect it for 
her, that he had received what might yet prove to 
be his death-blow. Had she not so obstinately, a 
short time ago, adhered to her porhaps-mistaken 
ideas of duty, this noble man would not now be 
lying here, a sacrifice. 

Gently she touched the bed ; — the suffering man 
opened his eyes. 

“Violet, my love! You have come to me! I 
thought I called your name as I fell !” 

“Harold, my Harold! Love, and duty also, 
called, and I am here!” 

“We understand now; don’t we, darling?” 

“Perfectly, Harold!” 

“I am so happy; — kiss me, Violet!” 

Dutifully, lovingly, she complied. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


THE MISSING COLLAR. WEDDED, AND SERENADED. 

November twenty-fifth! Uncle Billy's birth- 
day; and, at last, his wedding day! 

While leaning over and lacing his shoes that 
morning, the happy little man was also wisely 
enumerating his blessings. Within the hour he 
realized that he had omitted a great one soon to 
come; that one being his escape from his sister’s 
caustic tongue. 

It had happened, at breakfast, that Uncle Billy’s 
hand was slightly tremulous, and that the coffee in- 
tended for his mouth went upon the span-clean ta- 
blecloth that had been spread in honor of the day. 
Alas, Annie’s tribute was buried under the ava- 
lanche of invectives she rolled upon her unfortu- 
nate brother! 

“No matter how I slave an’ scratch ter have 
things clean, you will do your meanest ter spile 
’em; an’ it all comes of your ’maginin’ yerself in 
love, — an’ you old ’nough ter be sproutin’ wings 
fer heaven, — er horns ter wear in t’other place. Ef 
you was a boy an’ in calf-love, I’d overlook it. 

“But I kin tell yer from ’xperience, William 
Hawkins, that ginerwine love is like lightnin’, — it 
never strikes twice in the same place. 

“Now jes’ look at that great, brown, wet splash 
you’ve made! Why war n’t yer car’ful? I pity 
poor ’Lizbuth ef she’s a-stan’in’ up there in Glory 
354 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


355 

an’ peekin' down onter her husbun’ this day, when 
he carn’t eat, carn’t hold a cup, carn’t” 

Further reasoning as to why her dead sister-in- 
law deserved her pity was lost upon Uncle Billy, 
who was hurrying from the house. Going straight 
to Dandy’s stall, he patted the intelligent horse, and 
as he fed him a lump of sugar, he confided : “Dan- 
dy, old boy, me an’ you’s done with old maids arfter 
this day. That critter in there’s been a-raisin’ Cain 
with me ever sence she got word that her dress- 
maker’s broke oufr with the shingles. I carn’t help 
it, — I didn’ give ’em to her ; yit Annie sorter blames 
me ’cause now her new pupple silk won’t be done 
fer ternight! Why, all the pupple, red, er yaller 
silks in creation carn’t make her look pretty while 
she wags that tongue of hern. I tell yer, Dandy, 
boy, it’s a blessin’ ter git from under it!” 

The twentieth time that Uncle Billy looked at 
the clock that day, the hands were pointed al five; 
— time to dress for his wedding ! 

After his “biled” shirt and new suit of clothes 
were donned, a pair of white cotton gloves were 
drawn, with many smothered anathemas, on his 
fat, red hands ; then one last look into the little old- 
fashioned mirror; — how he wished that the man 
he saw there were not so bald! But perhaps this 
evening he would not be much noticed, as all at- 
tention, he believed, was usually centered upon the 
bride. 

On the last stroke of seven, off he started for 
Aunt Molly’s, leaving his repentant sister Annie, 
arrayed in her white silk shroud , to lock the house, 
get into her own carriage, and follow after. 

The bride-elect, in her new black silk, with whit- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


356 

est of lace at her neck, and white kid gloves, sat 
calmly awaiting the guests; and, incidentally, the 
bridegroom. 

“Thought I’d come a little afore the rush, so’s 
ter git a seat,” was Uncle Billy’s greeting. “How’s 
my new suit fit?” he asked, slowly turning around 
and around, and looking over his shoulder. 

“Why, man alive, where’s yer collar?” 

Uncle Billy was dumb-founded ! “By gum! 
hain’t it on my throat? Then I’ll hafter trot back, 
I spose, an’ git it! Kinder thought I wasn’t all 
completed even when I got these pesky gloves on! 
What’ll I fergit next? Fergit ter come back, meb- 
be!” 

Though placing no value upon his last remark, 
Aunt Molly thought perhaps it might be as well 
for him not to go. After pondering a moment, she 
said : “The best thing fer yer to do, is ter wear one 
of poor Daddy’s collars. He’ll never need ’em agin. 
I alius keep ’em done up ; I dunno why !” 

“I don’t much relish your popersition; but it’s 
better’n keepin’ the weddin’ers waitin’, I spose. 
An’ ter think! I had sech a shiny, new collar a- 
puppose !” 

Aunt Molly, hearing the sound of horses’ hoofs, 
looked out through the curtains and saw the Brad- 
ley and the Delmore carriages approaching. She 
grasped Uncle Billy’s arm, and led him toward the 
door of the spare room off the “settin’ ” room, as 
she exclaimed: 

“Here comes two hull loads of folks ! Git inter 
that bedroom, an’ in the left-hand corner of the 
little right-hand drawer at the top of the bureau, 
under a pile of clean hangkerchers, you’ll find two 


DADDY’S WIDOW 35 J 

collars. Wear ’em both, ef yer want ter; on’y fer 
respect’bleness sake, do hurry!” 

Uncle Billy heard the door being hastily closed 
behind him, and the chubby, bewildered, little per- 
sonage, alone in the room, rubbed his bald head a 
moment, as he tried to recall Aunt Molly’s explicit 
directions. 

“Le’s see: — 'the top-^hand corner of the little 
dr caver at the bottom of the brureau, under a pile 
of collars ' I’ll find two of ole Daddy’s hangker- 
chers, an’ wear 'em both;' is the orders I jes’ got 
from my lovin’ spouce, as fur as I kin say ’em off 
back’ards. 

“Guess I’ll git down car’ful, so’s not ter muss 
up my new trowsers, an ’take a squint inter this 
lowest drawer. No little drawer here! I’ll dump 
the big one out ; mebbe she’s got a secret drawer in 
back. Nope, nuthin’ there! Try this middle one. 
No, ’taint there! But hoi’ on! Mebbe she was 
kinder flustrated, an’ meant one of these little 
chaps high up here; I’ll try this feller. Ah, here's 
the hangkerchers, on top of some collars ! 

“But lor!” straightening himself up, and step- 
ping back from the bureau, — “Now haint that jes’ 
like a woman? / didn’ need no hangkercher, — 
I’ve got one, an’ it’s a big one, too ! I’ll put these 
collars back fust, an’ then run out there an’ read 
the Riot Act ter — Jehosherphat ! I do b’lieve ’twas 
a collar I was a-lookin’ fer all the time an’ didn’ 
know it! Billy, ye’re a-gittin’ rattled! 

“I’ll hafter come back here right arfter the wed- 
din’ an’ tidy up these drawers afore she sees ’em !” 
exclaimed the bridegroom-elect, grinning with 
youthful delight as his gaze rested upon the djs- 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


358 

order he had made; for he had not been particu- 
larly careful when turning things over during his 
search. 

All this rummaging had taken considerable time. 
Aunt Molly now tapped on the door and told 
Uncle Billy that Violet, Elva, and Richard had ar- 
rived, and that nearly all the guests were now 
there. 

“Ef there’s a carpenter ’mongst ’em, I wisht he’d 
come an’ plane down my neck ter fit this collar! 
It’ll never meet ! Why carn’t I slip a piece of 
trimmin’ ’round my throat, like you’ve got on 
yourn?” suggested the nearly-distracted man. 

“All I kin say is,” responded Aunt Molly from 
the room where the company could be pardoned 
for listening to the conversation, “that ef ever you 
come to another weddin’ of mine, yer’ll come all 
harnessed an’ blankited. Here!s yer sister Ann!” 

That lady was at once admitted to her brother’s 
presence where for once she was most welcome ; — 
for in her hand she bore the longed-for Piccadilly 
collar. 

In his delight, Uncle Billy forgot that his door 
was ajar, — forgot even the company and the occa- 
sion, as he exclaimed, loudly : “Here’s my nice new 
piccalily collar, an’ my red necktie, too! Ann 
Hawkins, you’re a brick! Jes’ put this on fer a 
feller, will yer?” 

Annie closed the door ; then, after many tugs and 
unnecessary pinches, told her brother that his deco- 
ration was complete. He turned toward her, glee- 
fully, just before leaving the bedroom, and asked, 
as he surveyed himself in the glass : 

“Don’t yer brother look orn’mental?” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


359 

“ ’Bout as orn’mental as an old cow’s tail in fly 
time, an’ not harf as useful,” she answered, with 
asperity. 

As solemnly a^ though it were at a funeral, 
Aunt Molly went through the ceremony. But 
Uncle Billy lost his wits completely; and when 
Brother Bradley, looking straight at Aunt Molly, 
asked her : “And will you, Mary, take this man to 
be your wedded husband ?” Uncle Billy hastily re- 
sponded : “I will !” 

When it came his own time to reply, he was star- 
ing at a hole that had come in the seam of his 
glove ; and Aunt Molly had to nudge him twice be- 
fore he responded. 

’Twas ended, that brief ceremony; and Uncle 
Billy, blushing like a boy detected in his first of- 
fense, saluted his bride. Instantly there came from 
Emma (who, with Juliet and Larry witnessed the 
ceremony from an adjoining room) one of her 
loud outbursts: “Gosh! Look at ’em! Look at 
’em!” Further suggestions from the same source 
were silenced by Juliet’s clutching as much of Em- 
ma’s wool as her hand could cover. 

Tommy, decked out in a bright cherry-colored 
ribbon, sat upon a small reed-bottom chair brought 
down from the attic for his especial use upon this 
occasion ; and his far-away expression as he gazed 
at his mistress receiving the salute of her husband, 
would justify one’s thinking that he might be re- 
calling to his feline mind the first time he had wit- 
nessed a similar performance given by the two 
whose heads, but not whose hearts, Time had 
frosted. 

“My heartiest congratulations, Uncle Billy ; 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


360 

you’ve won the heroine of grand old Suffolk Coun- 
ty !” said Judge Russell, who, with his sister at his 
side, was offering felicitations to Mr. and Mrs. 
William Nehemiah Hawkins. 

“I know it; warn’t I cute?” responded the new 
husband. 

Why had Judge Russell placed his left hand up- 
on his heart when, with courtly grace, he was bow- 
ing before the bride? Because in his vest’s inner 
pocket, enwrapping his first love-letter from Violet 
Deveau, was the telegram that had brought him 
inestimable happiness. 

Sister Annie was examining the wedding gifts 
in the side room, and carefully scrutinizing one 
card that seemed to hold an especial attraction for 
her. It bore the name of a son of someone she had 
known in the long-ago. As she held it a moment, 
tenderly, her habitually snappy expression softened, 
and she sighed softly, as she thought, “It might 
have been !” 

After refreshments had been served, there was 
an old-fashioned Virginia Reel, during the pro- 
gress of which, Uncle Billy’s heels flew up behind 
him as though his life depended upon his executing 
what he termed fancy steps. 

Then someone suggested the old-time, stately 
minuet, and Uncle Billy nearly consented to try it, 
for he believed he could go through it creditably 
with a little help from his bride; so he advised: 
“Come on, an’ le’s try it, Aunt Molly !” 

“‘Ann? Molly? Not this trip; please keep that 
in mind, Uncle Billy,” exclaimed the bride. 

“That’s so ; I fergot ; an’ from your larst remark 
jes’ now, it ’pears that you’re my niece!” 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


361 

In the midst of the merriment that followed, 
several pistol shots were fired very close to the 
house. All knew^hat that meant; and Uncle 
Billy, who had prepared for the visit of the howl- 
ing, begging crowd who term themselves “serenad- 
es,” said: 

“Here comes them ’tarnal hyenas! I knowed 
they would! Carn’t let a feller marry in peace! 
Aunt Molly, — er — eh — Molly , we’ll hafter treat 
’em now, ter git red of ’em quicker.” 

The din outside was becoming terrific. Young 
boys and old boys, black, white, and tan, had so 
long awaited this event, that they now celebrated 
accordingly. 

Amid the firing of a small cannon, the groans of 
the cat-fiddle which Matt Robertson rented out for 
such occasions, the tooting of horns, blazing of pis- 
tols, whooping of hoodlums, and whanging of dish- 
pans and wash-boilers, Uncle Billy went out to 
quiet the small regiment of uninvited guests. 

There was comparative quiet as he handed the 
leader two boxes of cigars, and, from a leather 
pouch, drew forth sixty-five bright silver quarters. 
But no sooner was the money distributed, than the 
unwelcome callers yelled for the bride , and would 
not be satisfied until she appeared, accompanied by 
some of the guests. 

Those who hoped that quiet had been restored, 
were disappointed, for where before there had 
been noise, now there was the wildest, deafening 
roaring ! Every % previous sound was redoubled, 
and it seemed as though throats would burst ; while 
the terrible shouting reverberated across the hills 
and part way to Oyster Bay. 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


362 

Finally Uncle Billy signalled to “Buster,” who 
was one of the leaders ; he, in turn, spoke to Epene- 
tus and two others; and soon the conglomerate 
crowd trampling the lawn all joined in singing, 
“Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot?” — and 
sang it well, too. 

Cake and lemonade were then passed to the sere- 
nades, who, afterwards, with shout and din ex- 
ceeding, if possible, that previously given, marched 
away. 

It was after midnight, and while the wedding 
guests were preparing to depart, that Uncle Billy 
said : “ ’Twill seem sorter strange ter not ter be 
cornin’ here ter court, no more, an’ I don’t know 
how I’ll stan’ it. But then, ’taint ev’ry man parst 
three-score-an’-ten that kin boast of a bride like 
mine. I carn’t promise, but I really hope she’ll be 
my larst.” 

“Well — I — like — that!” Aunt Molly exclaimed. 
“Tommy, did yer hear what yer step-father said?” 

“So,” continued Uncle Billy, after laughing with 
the guests, at his bride’s remark, “as I’ll have no 
more weddin’s of my own to invite yer to, all I kin 
say is that I most cordiously hope ter meet yer at 
the fust nex’ one ter come off ’mongst us !” 

Of course, all knew to whom reference was made, 
and Judge Russell bowed in response; while Vio- 
let, blushing, looked appealingly at Dorothy. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


FAREWELL. 

Brother Bradley had made but one brief call 
at Home-at-Last since that memorable night in Oc- 
tober when Amy Haywood had offered to place 
her life and her honor in his keeping. 

Only twice had there been any private conversa- 
tion between them; — once, when Brother Bradley 
had asked her as she stood apart from the singers, 
after rehearsal : “Is it not best thus ? Are not you 
happier ?” and she had answered by a smile, — such 
a resigned, pathetic smile, it saddened him. 

The other time was when she had inquired : “Are 
you going away, or may I ?” 

“I will keep my promise,” was his reply. 

One Sunday shortly after this, the church was 
so filled that additional seats had to be brought in 
and placed in the aisles; for Brother Bradley had 
announced, the Sunday previous, that he would 
have an important communication to make, and 
that he desired all to hear it. 

In one of the rear seats sat gigantic Mrs. Sword, 
with her friend, little Miss Dare; and across the 
aisle from them were “Sandy” and “Buster,” close 
to deacon Epenetus Jones. 

From a slight commotion near the entrance, it 
was certain that the chief attraction, for those who 
had come merely out of curiosity, had arrived. 

363 


DADDY’S WIDOW 


364 

Nearly every head turned toward the big doors as 
the sexton opened them ; and those who arose from 
their seats saw a silver-haired bride and groom, 
arm in arm, together cross the sacred threshold. 

At a nudge from his bride, Uncle Billy started to 
remove his high hat ; but noting how crowded the 
aisles were, he decided that the tile would be safer 
where it was than it would be in his hand; so he 
replaced it. 4 * 

Those seated in the aisles were pleased to rise and 
allow the later arrivals to pass. Aunt Molly was in 
advance, and she saw, awaiting her, Mae Edmonds, 
who, in behalf of the choir, presented her with a 
beautiful bouquet. The graceful act so touched the 
old lady’s heart, it prevented her from readily ex- 
pressing her thanks which the quick-witted Mae 
read plainly in the tears that sprang in the bright, 
black eyes; but before they started to fall, Aunt 
Molly, hearing audible smiles just back of her, 
turned around, and saw the amusing spectacle of 
her new husband lying across Mrs. Porter’s lap, he 
having tripped, somehow, in passing Uncle ’Leaze 
Hobbs ! 

(For years afterward, whenever reference was 
made to that evening, Uncle Billy always volun- 
teered the statement : “I’ll git hunky yit with that 
beggar ‘Porky’, fer stickin’ out his clover hoof an’ 
trippin’ me up a-puppose!” Aunt Molly would 
make no response.) 

At the close of the most soul-stirring discourse 
ever delivered in that little church, when the last 
hymn had been sung, the congregation noticed 
Brother Bradley’s pallor, as he stepped deliberately 


DADDY’S WIDOW 365 

to the pulpit, clasped his hands upon the closed bi- 
ble there, and said : 

“Dear friends, what I am about to announce to 
you, is a decision reached after careful deliberation 
and many fervent prayers for Divine guidance. 

“For nearly two years I have been your pastor, 
performing my duty as I saw it. If I have failed 
in part, I ask you to judge leniently, and then ex- 
tend forgiveness. If I have erred, it was from the 
head, and not from the heart. 

“Our relations have been most cordial every 
eye was upon the speaker, and some were already 
filling with tears — “and while I regret that those 
relations must now be” — he paused. 

“No, no !” “Not for years !” “You must not !” 
came from several of the members; and in an 
instant many would have risen and protested, had 
not their pastor raised his hand in request for 
silence. 

He moistened his lips as though to make the 
word he sought come more easily from them, — 
“severed, — I believe it is God’s pleasure that I 
2 °” 

There was now a slight commotion up in the choir 
where Brother Bradley glanced and saw several of 
the singers raising one of their companions who 
had fallen. 

His face became whiter, but he went bravely on : 

“If I have helped you ; if the kindly feeling I en- 
tertain for you finds reciprocation in your hearts, 
grant me this, my last request of you: — that you 
do not seek to have me reconsider this, my final 
determination! 

“I trust that you will extend to my successor the 


DADDY'S WIDOW 


366 

same liberal sympathy and good-fellowship as I 
have been permitted to enjoy. May God be with 
you !” 

He bowed his head a moment in silent prayer. 

Women were sobbing, and men were wiping 
their eyes ; while few there were who could realize 
the evidence of their own ears. 

Then, for the last time in that pretty edifice 
where he had spent so many happy hours, Brother 
Bradley slowly raised his head, and with his true, 
beautiful eyes looking upward, he extended his 
hands, held them motionless a moment, and then, 
for the last time, his rich, magnetic voice pro- 
nounced the benediction : 

“And now may the grace of our Lord Jesus 
Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost, rest 
and abide with you all, now and forevermore. 
Amen.” 


The End. 





























































































































